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SMITH 


L. B. ^ 


BV 


WALFORB 


'\?,S 

AUTHOR OF ,;:J| 

“The Baby’s Grand- 
mother,” •* Troublesome &■ 
Daughters,” ^Itc., Etc« 

f- 



KnUrti) M Mm PMt OCm, M. T., m SMea4-«)Ma BtHar. 


C«yHcbt, 


1884, tfOBM W. Lotiu, CoMrAMT. Iisued Tri-WMkIr. 



_ _ ^HD STA^D^ 

New York 

OH/'l*W* l^ELL-(OA\PANY* 



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■flvnow Sll Monicn EY these presents, Tiut 

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Enoch Morgan’s Sons Sapolio are offered by unscrupulous iwties, 
vho do not hesitate to represent them as the original article, 

llu&enturc MITKESSETH, that there is but one 

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Morgan’s Sons Co., of New York, unsurpassed in quality, unexcelled 
in popularity, and widely knov\ n 
not only through its own merits, 
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which they invariably find to be 
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In M'itness Whereof, we hereby 
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ENOCH MORGAN 



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LOVELL S LIBRARV. 


COMPLETE CATALOGUE BY AUTHORS. 

Lovelt/s Librakt now contains the complete writings of most of the best standard 
apthors, such as Dickens, Thackeray, Eliot, Carlyle, Ruskin, Scott, Lytton, Black, etc., 
etc. 

Bach number is issued in neat 12mo form, and the type will be found larger, and the 
paper better, than in any other cheap series published. 

JOHN W. LOVELL, COMPANT, 

P. 0. Box 1992. 14 ami 16 Vesey St., New Yorlc. 


BY G. M. ADAM AND A. E. 


WETHERALD 

840 An Algonquin Maiden 20 

BY MAX ADELER 

295 Random Shots 20 

325 Elbow Room 20 

BY GUSTAVE AIMARD 

560 The Adventurers 10 

667 The Trail-Hunter 10 

573 Pearl of the Andes 10 

1011 Pirates of the Prairies 10 

1021 The Trapper’s Daughter 10 

1032 The Tiger Slayer 10 

1045 Trappers of Arkansas 10 

1052 Border Rifles 10 

1063 The Freebooters 10 

1069 The White Scalper 10 

BY MRS. ALDERDICE 

346 An Interesting Case 20 

BY MRS. ALEXANDER 

62 The Wooing O’t, 2 Parts, each 15 

99 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

209 The Executor 20 

349 Valerie’s Pate 10 

664 At Bay 10 

746 Beaton’s Bargain 20 

777 A Second Life 20 

799 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

840 By Woman’s Wit 20 

995 Which Shall it Be? 20 

BY F. ANSTEY 

30 V ice V ersk ; or, A Lesson to Fathers. . 20 

394 The G-iant’s Robe 20 

453 Black Poodle, and Other Tales 20 

616 The Tinted Venus 15 

755 A Fallen Idol 20 

BY T. S. ARTHUR 

496 Woman’s Trials 20 

507 The Two Wives 15 

518 Married Life 15 

638 The W ays of Pro vidence 15 

645 Home Scenes 15 

554 Stories for Parents 15 

663 Seed-Time and Harvest 16 

668 Words for the Wise 15 

674 Stories for Young Housekeepers 15 

579 Lessonsjn Life 15 

682 Off-Hand Sketclies 15 

685 Tried and Tempted ! i . . 15 


BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN 


419 Fairy Tales 20 

BY EDWIN ARNOLD 

436 The Light of Asia 20 

455 Pearls of the Faith 15 

472 Indian Song of Songs 10 

BY W. E. AYTOUN 

351 Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers 20 

BY ADAM BADEAU 

766 Conspiracy 25 

BY SIR SAMUEL BAKER 

206 Cast up by the Sea 20 

227 Rifle and Hound in Ceylon .20 

233 Eight Years’ Wandering in Ceylon . . 20 

BY C. W. BALESTIER 

881 A Fair Device. 20 

405 Life of J. G. Blaine 20 

BY R. M. BALLANTYNE 

215 The Red Eric 20 

226 The Fire Brigade 20 

239 Erling the Bold 20 

241 Deep Down 20 

BY S. BARING-GOULD 

878 Little Tu’penny 10 

BY GEORGE MIDDLETON BAYNE 

460 Galaski 20 

BY AUGUST BEBEL 

712 Woman ,30 

BY MRS. E. BEDELL BENJAMIN 

748 Our Roman Palace 20 

BY A. BENRIMO 

470 Vic 15 

BY E. BERGER 

901 Charles Auchester 20 

BY W. BERGSOE 

77 Pillone 15 

BY E. BERTHET 

366 The Sergeant’s Legacy 20 

BY BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON 

3 The Happy Boy IQ 

4 Arne IQ 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY, 


BY WALTER BESANT 


18 They Were Married 10 

103 Let Nothing You Dismay 10 

267 AH in a Garden Fail’ 20 

268 When the Ship Comes Home 10 

384 Dorothy Forster 20 

699 Self or Bearer 10 

842 The World Went Very Well Then . . 20 
847 The Holy Rose 10 

3002 To Call Her Mine 20 

BY WILLIAM BLACK 

40 An Adventure in Thule, etc ,10 

48 A Princess of Thule 20 

82 A Daughter of Heth 20 

85 Shandon Bells 20 

93 Macleod of Dare 20 

136 Yolande 20 

142 Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. . . 20 

146 White Wings 20 

153 Sunrise, 2 Parts, each 15 

178 Madcap Violet 20 

180 Kilmeny 20 

182 That Beautiful Wretch 20 

184 Green Pastures, etc 20 

188 In Silk Attire 20 

213 The Three Feathers 20 

216 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

217 The Four MacNicols 10 

218 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P 10 

225 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

282 Monarch of Mincing Lane 20 

4.56 Judith Shakespeare 20 

584 Wise W omen of I n verness 10 

678 White Heather 20 

958 Sabina Zembra 20 

BY MISS M. E. BBADDOK 

88 The Golden Calf 2C 

104 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

214 Phantom Fortune 20 

266 Under the Red Flag 10 

444 An Ishmaelite 21* 

555 Aurora Floyd 20 

688 To the Bitter End 20 

696 Dead Sea Fruit 2C 

698 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

766 Vixen 20 

783 The Octoroon 20 

814 Mohawks 20 

868 One Thing Needful 20 

869 Barbara ; or, Splendid Misery 20 

870 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

871 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

872 Taken at the Flood 20 

873 Asphodel 20 

877 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

878 Only a Clod 20 

879 Sir J asper’s Tenant 20 

880 Lady’s Mile 20 

881 Birds of Prey 20 

882 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

88;3 Rupert Godwin 20 

886 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

887 A Strange World 20 

888 Mount Royal 20 

889 Just As I Am 20 

890 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

892 Hostages to Fortune 20 

893 Fenton’s Quest 20 

894 The Cloveu Toet 20 


BY FRANK BARRETT. 

1009 The Great Hesper 20 

BY B. D. BLACKMORE 

851 Lorna Doone, Part 1 20 

851 Lorna Doone, Part II 2(1 

9.S6 Maid of Sker 20 

955 Cradock Nowell, Part 1 20 

955 Cradock Nowell, Part II 20 

961 Springhaven 20 

10.34 Mary Auerley 20' 

1035 Alice Lorraine 20 

1036 Cristowell 20 

10.37 Clara Vaughan 20 

1038 Cripps the Carrier 20 

1039 Remarkable History of Sir Thomaa 

Upmore 20 

1040 Erema ; or, My Father’s Sin 20 

BY LILLIE D. BLAKE 

105 Woman’s Place To-day 20 

597 Fettered for Life 25 

BY ANNIE BRADSHAW 

716 A Crimson Stain 20 

BY CHARLOTTE BREMER 

448 Life of Fredrika Bremer 20 

BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE 

74 Jane Eyre 20 

897 Shirley 20 

BY RHODA BROUGHTON 

23 Second Thoughts 20 

230 Belinda 20 

781 Betty’s Visions 15 

841 Dr. Cupid 20 

1022 Good-Bye, Sweetheart ... .20 

102-3 Red as a Rose is She .20 

1024 Cometh up as a Flower. . . 20 

1025 Not Wisely but too Well 20 

1026 Nancy 20 

1027 Joan 20 

BY ELIZABETH BARRETT 
BROWNING 

42^ A urora Leigh 20 

47u Poems 36 

BY ROBERT BROWNING 

552 Selections from Poetical Works 20 

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 

443 Poems 20 

BY ROBERT BUCHANAN 

318 The New Abelard 20 

696 The Master of the Mine 10 

BY JOHN BUNYAN 

200 The Pilgrim’s Progress 2* 

BY ROBERT BURNS 

430 Poems 2P 

BY REV. JAS. S. BUSH 

113 More Words about the Bible 2(J 

BY E. LASSETER BYNNER 

100 Nimport, 2 Parts, each 15 

102 Tritons, 2 Parts, each 16 


LOVELL’S LIBKARY, 


BY THOMAS CAMPBELL 


B26 Poems 20 

BY ROSA NOBCHETE CAREY 

660 For Lilias 20 

911 Not Like other Q-irls 20 

912 Robert Ord’s Atonement 20 

959 WeeWifie 20 

960 Wooed and Man'ied 20 

BY WM. CARLETON 

190 Willy Reilly 20 

820 Shane Fadh’s Wedding 10 

821 Larry McFarland’s Wake 10 

822 The Party Fight and Funeral 10 

823 The Midnight Mass 10 

824 PhilPurcel 10 

825 An Irish Oath 10 

826 Going to Maynooth 10 

827 Phelim O’Toole’s Courtship 10 

828 Dominick, the Poor Scholar 10 

829 Neal Malone 10 

BY THOMAS CARLYLE 

486 History of French Revolution, 2 

Parts, each 25 

494 Past and Present 20 

600 The Diamond Necklace ; and ilira- 

beau 20 

603 Chartism 20 

608 Sartor Resartus 20 

614 Early Kings of Norway 20 

620 Jean Paul Friedrich Richter 10 

622 Goethe, and Miscellaneous Essays. . .10 

525 Life of Heyne 15 

528 Voltaire and Novalis 15 

641 Heroes, and Hero-Worship 20 

646 Signs of the Times 15 

650 German Literature 15 

601 Portraits of John Knox; 15 

571 Count Cagliostro, etc 15 

578 Frederick the Great, Vol. I 20 

680 “ “ Vol. II 20 

691 “ “ “ Vol- III 20 

610 “ Vol. IV 20 

619 “ “ Vol. V 20 

622 “ “ “ Vol. VI 20 

626 “ “ ‘‘ Vol. VII 20 

628 “ “ “ Vol. VIII 20 

630 Life of John Sterling 20 

633 Latter-Day Pamphlets 20 

636 Life of Schiller 20 

643 Oliver Cromwell, VoL 1 25 

646 “ “ Vol. II 25 

649 “ Vol, III 25 

652 Characteristics and other Essays, . . .15 

656 Corn Law Rhj^mes and other Essays , 15 

658 Baillie the Covenanter and other Es- 
says 15 

661 Dr. Francia and other Essays 15 

BY LEWIS CARROLL 

480 Alice’ s Adventures 20 

481 Through the Looking-Glass 20 

BY “ CAVENDISH ” 

422 Cavendish Card Eisays. 15 

BY CERVANTES 

417 Don Quixote 30 

BY L. W. CHAMPNEY 

119 Bourbon Lilies 20 


BY VICTOR CHERBBLIEZ 

242 Samuel Brohl & Co 20 


BY BERTHA M. CLAY 


183 Her Mother’s Sin 20 

277 Dora Thorne. 20 

287 Beyond Pardon 20 

420 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

423 Repented at Leisure . .20 

458 Sunshine and Roses 20 

405 The EaiTa Atonement 20 

474 A Woman’s Temptation 20 

476 Love Works Wonders ,.20 

558 Fair but False 10 

593 Between Two Sins 10 

651 At War with Herself 15 

669 Hilda 10 

689 Her Martyrdom 20 

692 Lord Lynn’s Choice 10 

694 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

695 Wedded and Parted 10 

700 In Cupid’s Net 10 

701 Lady Darner’s Secret 20 

718 A Gilded Sin 10 

720 Between Two Loves 20 

727 I'or Another’s Sin 20 

730 Romance of a Young Girl 20 

733 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

738 A Golden Dawn 10 

739 Like no Other Love 10 

740 A Bitter Atonement 20 

744 Evelyn’s Folly 20 

752 Set in Diamonds 20 

764 A Fair Mystery 20 

800 Thorns and Orange Blossoms 10 

801 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

803 Love's Warfare 10 

804 Madolin’s Lover 20 

806 From Out the Gloom 20 

807 Wliich Loved Him Best 10 

808 A True Magdalen 20 

809 The Sin of a Lifetime 20 

810 Prince Charlie’s Daughter 10 

811 A Golden Heart 10 

812 Wife in Name Only 20 

815 A Woman’s Error 20 

896 Marjorie 20 

922 A Wilful Maid 20 

923 Lady Castlemaine's Divorce 20 

926 Claribel’s Love Story 20 

928 Thrown on the World 20 

929 Under a Shadow *20 

930 A Struggle for a Ring 20 

932 Hilary’s Folly 20 

933 A Haunted Life 20 

934 A Woman’s Love Story 20 

969 A Woman’s War 20 

984 ’Twixt Smile and Tear 20 

985 Lady Diana’s Pride 20 

986 Belle of Lynn 20 

988 Marjorie’s Pate 20 

989 Sweet Cymbeliiie 20 

1007 Redeemed by Love 20 

1012 The Squire’s Darling 10 

1013 The Mystery of Colde Fell 20 

BY REV. JAS. FREEMAN CLARK 

167 Anti-Slavery Days 20 


BY S. T. COLERIDGE 

23 Poems ,,,,30 


LOVELL’S 


BY WILKIE COLLINS 

V 'ne Moonstone, Part 1 10 

'l-he Moonstone, Part II 10 

24 The New Magdalen 20 

87 Heart and Science 20 

418 “I Say No” 20 

437 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices 15 

683 The Ghost’s Touch 10 

686 My Lady’s Money 10 

722 The Evil Genius 20 

839 The Guilty River 10 

957 The Dead Secret 20 

996 The Queen of Hearts 20 

1003 The Haunted Hotel 10 

BY HUGH CONWAY 

429 Called Back 15 

462 Dark Days 15 

612 Carriston’s Gift 10 

617 Paul Vargas: a Mystery 10 

631 A Family Affair 20 

667 Story of a Sculptor 10 

672 Slings and Arrows 10 

715 A Cardinal Sin 20 

745 Living or Dead 20 

750 Somebody’s Story 10 

968 Bound by a Spell 20 

BY J. FENIMORE COOPER 

6 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

53 The Spy 20 

S66 The Pathfinder 20 

378 Homeward Bound 20 

441 Home as Found 20 

463 The Deerslayer 30 

467 The Prairie 20 

471 The Pioneer 25 

484 The Two Admirals 20 

488 The Water-Witch 20 

491 The Red Rover 20 

501 The Pilot 20 

506 Wing and Wing 20 

512 Wyandotte 20 

517 Heidenmauer 20 

519 The Headsman 20 

524 The Bravo 20 

527 Lionel Lincoln 20 

529 Wept of Wish-ton-Wish 20 

532 Afloat and Ashore 20 

639 Miles Wallinerford 20 

643 TheMonikins 20 

648 Mercedes of Castile . . 20 

553 The Sea Lions 20 

559 The Crater 20 

5(i2 Oak Openings 20 

570 Satanstoe 20 

576 The Chain-Bearer 20 

687 Ways of the Hour 20 

601 Precaution 20 

603 Redskins 25 

611 Jack Tier 20 

BY KINAHAN CORNWALLIS 

409 Adrift with a Vengeance 25 

BY THE COUNTESS 

1028 A Passion Flower 20 

1041 The World Between Them 20 

BY GEORGIAN A M. CRAIK 

1006 A Daughter of the People ,20 


LIBRARY. 


BY R. CRISWELL 

350 Grandfather Lickthingle JO 

BY R. H. DANA, JR. 

464 Two Years before the Mast 20 

BY DANTE 

345 Dante’s Vision of Hell, Purgatory, 

and Paradise 20 

BY FLORA A. DARLING 

260 Mrs. Darling’s War Letters 20 

BY JOYCE DARRELL 

315 Winifred Power 20 

BY ALPHONSE DAUDET 

478 Tartarin of Tarascoh 20 

604 Sidonie 20 

613 Jack 20 

615 The Little Gnod-for-Nothing 20 

645 The Nabob 25 

BY REV. C. H. DAVIES, D.D. 

453 Mystic London 20 

BY THE DEAN OF ST. PAUL’S 

431 Life of Spenser lO 

BY C. DEBANS 

475 A Sheep in Wolfs Clothing 20 

BY REV. C. F. DEEMS, D.D. 

704 Evolution 20 

BY DANIEL DEFOE 

428 Robinson Crusoe 25 

BY THOS. DE QUINCEY 

^ The Spanish Nun 10 

BY CHARLES DICKENS 

JO Oliver Twist 20 

38 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

75 Child’s History of England 20 

91 Pickwick Papers, 2 farts, each 20 

140 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

144 Old Curiosity Shop, 2 Parts, each. . . 15 

150 Barnaby Rudge, 2 Parts, each 15 

158 David Copperfield, 2 Parts, each 20 

170 Hard Times 20 

192 Great Expectations 20 

201 Martin Chuzzlewit, 2 Parts, each. . . .20 

210 American Notes 20 

219 Dombey and Son, 2 Parts, each 20 

223 Little Dorrit, 2 Parts, each. 20 

228 Our Mutual Friend. 2 Parts, each ... 20 

231 Nicholas Nickleby, 2 Parts, each 20 

234 Pictures from Italy 10 

237 The Boy at Mugby 10 

244 Bleak House, 2 Parts, each 20 

246 Sketches of the Young Couples 10 

261 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

267 The Haunted House, etc 10 

270 The Mudfog Papers, etc 10 

273 Sketches by Boz 20 

274 A Christmas Carol, etc 15 

282 Uncommercial Traveller 20 

288 Somebody’s Luggage, etp 10 

293 The Battle of Life, etc 10 

2{)7 Mystery of Edwin Drood : .... 20 

298 Reprinted Pieces 20 

302 No Thoroughfare 15 

437 Tales of Two Idle Apprentices.. ... ,10 


LOVELL’S LIERAEY. 


BY CARL DETLEF 


27 Irene; or, The Lonely Manor 20 

BY PROF. DOWDEN 

404 Life of Southey ' .10 

BY .JOHN DRYDEN 

498 roeins .30 

BY DU BOISGOBEY 

1018 Condemned Door 20 

BY THE “DUCHESS” 

68 Portia SO 

76 Molly Pawn 20 

78 Phyllis 20 

86 Monica 10 

90 Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

92 Airy Fairy Lilian 20 

126 Loys, Lord Beresford 20 

132 Moonshine and Marguerites 10 

162 Faith and Unfaith 20 

168 Beauty’s Daughters 20 

284 Eossmoyne 20 

451 Doris 20 

477 A Week in Killarney 10 

530 In Durance Vile 10 

618 Dick’s Sweetheart ; or, “ O Tender 

Dolores” 20 

621 A Maiden all Forlorn 10 

624 A Passive Crime 10 

721 Lady Branksmere 20 

7-35 A Mental Struggle 20 

737 The Haunted Chamber 10 

792 HerlWeek’s Amusement 10 

802 Lady Valworth's Diamonds 20 

BY LORD DUFFERIN 

95 Letters from High Latitudes 20 


BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part 1 20 

761 Count of Monte Cristo, Part II 20 

776 The Three Guardsmen 20 

786 Twenty Years After 20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Part I 20 

884 The Son of Monte Cristo, Part II. . . 20 

885 Monte Cristo and His Wife 20 

891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Parti. ..20 
891 Countess of Monte Cristo, Part II... 20 
998 Beau Tancrede 20 

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS, JR. 

992 Camille 10 


BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDS 


681 A Girton Girl 20 

BY GEORGE ELIOT 

56 Adam Bede, 2 Parts, each 15 

69 Amos Barton 10 

71 Silas Mar ner 10 

79 Romola, 2 Parts, each 16 

149 Janet’s Repentance 10 

151 Felix Holt 20 

174 Middlemarch, 2 Parts, each 20 

195 Daniel Deronda, 2 Parts, each 20 

202 Theophrastus Such 10 

205 The Spanisli Gypsy.and other Poems20 

207 The Mill on the Floss, 2 Parts, each.l 5 

208 Brother Jacob, etc 10 

374 Essays, and Leaves from a Note- 

Book .. .. 20 


BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS 


203 Disarmed ,15 

663 The FlorVer of Doom lO 

1005 Next of Kin 20 

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON 

373 Essays 20 

ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. 
EDITED BY JOHN MORLEY 

348 Bunyan, by J. A. Froude 10 

407 Burke, by John Morley 10 

334 Burns, by Principal Shairp 10 

347 Byron, by Professor Nichol 10 

413 Chaucer, by Prof. A. W. Ward 10 

424 Cowper, by Gold win Smith 10 

377 Defoe, by William Minto 10 

383 Gibbon, by J. C. Morrison 10 

226 Goldsmith, by William Black 10 

369 Hume, by Professor Huxley 10 

401 Johnson, by Leslie Stephen 10 

380 Locke, by Thomas Fowler 10 

392 Milton, by Mark Pattison 10 

398 Pope, by Leslie Stephen 10 

364 Scott, by R. H, Hutton 10 

361 Shelley, by J. Symonds 10 

404 Southey, by Professor Dowden 10 

431 Spenser, by the Dean of St. Paul’s. . 10 
844 Thackeray, by Anthony Trollope. . .10 
410 Wordsworth, by F. Myers 10 

BY B. L. FARJEON 

243 Gautran ; or. House of White Shad- 
ows 20 

654 Love’s Harvest 20 

856 Golden Bells 10 

874 Nine of Hearts 20 

BY HARRIET FARLEY 

473 Christmas Stoi'ies 20 

BY F. W. FARRAR, D.D. 

19 Seekers after God 20 

50 Early Days of Christianity, 2 Parts, 

each 20 

BY GEORGE MANNVILLE FENN 

1004 This Man’s Wife 20 

BY OCTAVE FEUILLET 

41 A Marriage in High Life 20 

987 Romance of a Poor Young Man. ... 10 

BY FRIEDRICH, BARON DE LA 

MOTTE FOUQUE 

711 Undine 10 

BY MRS. FORRESTER 

760 Fair Women 20 

818 Once Again 20 

843 My Lord and My Lady 20 

844 Dolores 20 

850 My Hero 20 

869 Viva 20 

860 Omnia Vanitas 10 

861 Diana Carew 20 

862 From Olympus to Hades 20 

863 Rhona 20 

864 Roy and Viola 20 

865 June 20 

866 Mignon 20 

867 A Young Man’s Fancy 20 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY, 


BY THOMAS FOWLER 

380 Life of Locke 10 

BY FRANCESCA 

177 The Story of Ida 10 

BY R. E. FRANCILLON 

319 A Real Queen 20 

856 Golden Bells ... 10 

BY ALBERT FRANKLYN 

122 Ameline de Bonrg 15 

BY L. VIRGINIA FRENCH 

485 My Roses 20 

BY J. A. FROUDE 

348 Life of Bunyan 10 

BY EMILE GABORIAU 

114 Monsieur Lecoq, 2 Parts, each 20 

116 The Lerouge Case 20 

120 Other People’s Money 20 

129 In Peril of His Life 20 

138 The Gilded Clique 20 

155 Mystery of Orcival 20 

161 Promise of Marriage 10 

258 File No. 113 ...20 

BY HENRY GEORGE 

62 Progress and Poverty 20 

390 Land Question 10 

393 Social Problems 20 

796 Property in Land 15 

BY CHARLES GIBBON 

67 The Golden Shaft 20 

BY J. W. VON GOETHE 

342 Goethe's Faust 20 

343 Goethe’s Poem s 20 

BY NIKOLAI V. GOGOL 

1016 Taras Bulla 20 

BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH 

61 Vicar of Wakefield 10 

B62 Plays and Poems 20 

BY MRS. GORE 

89 The Dean’s Daughter 20 

BY JAMES GRANT 

49 The Secret Despatch 20 

BY HENRI GREVILLE. 

ICOl Frankley 20 

BY CECIL GRIFFITH 

732 Victory Deane 20 

BY ARTHUR GRIFFITHS 

709 No. 99 10 

THE BROTHERS GRIMM 

221 Fairy Tales, Illustrated 20 

BY LIEUT. J. W. GUNNISON 

440 History of the Mormons 15 

BY ERNST HAECKEL 

97 India and Ceylon 20 

BY MARION HARLAND 

107 Housekeeping and Uomemakiug. ... 15 


BY F. W. HACKLANDER 

606 Forbidden Fruit 20 

BY H. RIDER HAGGARD 

813 King Solomon’s Mines 20 

848 She 20 

876 The Witch’s Head 20 

900 Jess 20 

941 Dawn 20 

1020 Allan Quatermain 20 

BY A. EGMONT HAKE 

371 The Story of Chinese Gordon 20 

BY LUDOVIC HALEVY 

15 L’Abbe Constantin 20 

BY THOMAS HARDY 

43 Two on a Tower 20 

157 Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 
maid 10 

749 The Mayor of Casterbridge 20 

956 The Woodlanders 20 

964 Far from the Madding Crowd 20 

BY JOHN HARRISON AND M. 
COMPTON 

414 Over the Summer Sea 20 

BY J. B. HARWOOD 

269 One False, both Fair 20 

BY JOSEPH HATTON 

7 Clytie 20 

137 Cruel London 26 

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

370 Twice Told Tales 20 

376 Grandfather’s Chair 26 

BY MARY CECIL HAY 

466 Under the Will 10 

666 The Arundel Motto 26 

690 Old Myddleton’s Money 20 

787 A Wicked Girl 10 

971 Nora’s Love Test 26 

972 The Squire’s Legacy 26 

973 Dorothy’s Venture 26 

974 My First Offer 16 

975 Back to the Old Hoiiifi 10 

976 For Her Dear Sake 20 

977 Hidden Perils 20 

978 Victor and Vanquished 20 

BY MRS. FELICIA HEMANS 

583 Poems 30 

BY DAVID J. HILL, LL.D. 

533 Principles and Fallacies of Social- 
ism 15 

BY M. L. HOLBROOK, M.D. 

356 Hygiene of the Brain 26 

BY MRS. M. A. HOLMES 

709 Woman against Woman 20 

743 A Woman’s Vengeance 20 

BY PAXTON HOOD 

73 Life of Cromwell 15 

BY THOMAS HOOD 


51 1 Poems 1 1 . t . M SO 


LOVELL'S LIBRARY 


BY HORRY AND WEEMS 

86 Life of Marion 20 

BY ROBERT HOUDIN 

14 The Tricks of the Greeks 20 

BY ADAH M. HOWARD 

970 Against Her Will 20 


993 


The Child Wife 10 

BY EDWARD HOWLAND 


742 

Social Solutions, 

Parti 

...10 

747 



Part II 

...10 

758 

44 

ii 

Part III 


762 

ii 

ii 

Part IV.. 

...10 

765 

cc 

it 

PartV 

...10 

774 

(4 

it 

Part VI .... ... 

...10 

778 

44 

ii 

Part VII 

...10 

782 

it 

ii 

Part VIII 

...10 

785 

it 

ii 

Part IX 

...10 

788 

it 

it 

Part X 

...10 

791 

it 

ii 

Part XI 

...10 

795 

ii 

it 

Part XII 

...10 


BY MARIE 

HOWLAND 



634 Papa’s Own Girl. 


.30 


BY JOHN W. HOYT, LL.D. 

636 Studies in Civil Service 15 

BY THOMAS HUGHES 

61 Tom Brown’s School Days 20 

186 Tom Brown at Oxford, 2 Parts, each. 15 

BY PROF. HUXLEY 

S69 Life of Hume 10 

BY STANLEY HUNTLEY 

109 The Spoopendyke Papers 20 

BY VICTOR HUGO 

784 Les Miserables, Part 1 20 


Part II . 
Part III. 


784 
784 

BY R. H. HUTTON 

804 Life of Scott 20 

BY WASHINGTON IRVING 

147 The Sketch Book. 20 

198 Tales of a Traveller 20 

199 Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

Part 1 20 

Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

Part II 20 

224 Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey. . .10 

JWO Knickerbocker History of N ew York. 20 

249 The Crayon Papers 20 

263 The Alhambra 15 

272 Conquest of Granada 20 

279 Conquest of Spain 10 

281 Bracebridge Hall 20 

290 Salmagundi. 20 

299 Astoria 20 

301 Spanish Voyages ^ 

305 A Tour on the Prairies 10 

308 Life of Mahomet, 2 Parts, each 15 

310 Oliver Goldsmith 20 

311 Captain Bonneville 20 

314 Moorish Chronicles 10 

821 Wolf erf s Roost and Miscellanies 10 


BY HARRIET JAY 

17 The Dark Colleen 20 

BY SAMUEL JOHNSON 

44 Rasselas 10 

BY MAURICE JOKAI 

754 A Modern Midas 20 

BY JOHN KEATS 

531 Poems 25 

BY EDWARD KELLOGG 

111 Labor and Capital 20 

BY GRACE KENNEDY 

106 Dunallan, 2 Parts, each 15 

BY JOHN P. KENNEDY 

67 Horse- Shoe Robinson, 2 Parts, each . 1 5 

BY CHARLES KINGSLEY 

39 • The Hermits 20 

64 Hypatia, 2 Parts, each 15 

BY HENRY KINGSLEY 

726 Austin Eliot 20 

728 The Hillyars and Burtons 20 

731 Leighton Court 20 

736 Geoffrey Hamlyn 30 

BY W. H. G. KINGSTON 

254 Peter the Whaler 20 

322 MarkSeaworth 20 

324 Round the World 20 

335 The Young Foresters 20 

337 Saltwater 20 

338 The Midshipman 20 

BY F. KIRBY 

454 The Golden Dog 40 

BY A. LA POINTE 

445 The Rival Doctors 20 

BY MISS MARGARET LEE 

25 Divorce 20 

600 A Brighton Night 20 

725 Dr. Wilmer’s Love 25 

741 Lorimer and Wife 20 

BY VERNON LEE 

797 A Phantom Lover 10 

798 Prince of the Hundred Soups 10 

BY JULES LERMINA 

469 The Chase 20 

BY CHARLES LEVER 

327 Harry Lorrequer 20 

789 Charles O’Malley. 2 Parts, each 20 

794 Tom Burke of Ours, 2 Parts, each. .20 

BY H. W. LONGFELLOW 

1 Hyperion 20 

2 Outre-Mdr 20 

482 Poems 20 

BY SAMUEL LOVER 

163 The Happy Man 10 

719 Rory O’More 20 

849 Handy Andy 


lovkll’s library 


BY COMMANDER LOVETT-CAM- 
ERON. 

817 The Cruise of the Black rrinco. , ..20 

BY MRS. H. LOVETT-CAMERON 


927 Pure Gold 20 

BY HENRY W. LUCY 

96 Gideon Fleyce 20 

BY HENRY C. LUKENS 

131 Jets and Flashes 20 

BY EDNA LYALL 

962 Knights-Errant 20 

BY E. LYNN LYNTON 

275 lone Stewart 20 

BY LORD LYTTON 

11 The Coming Race 10 

12 Leila 10 

31 Ernest Maltravers 20 

32 The Haunted House 10 

45 Alice : A Sequel to Ern^t Maltra- 
vers 20 

55 A Strange Story 20 

59 Last Days of Pompeii 20 

81 Zanoni 20 

84 Night and RSarning, 2 Parts, each. . 15 

117 Paul Clifford 20 

121 Lady of Lyons 10 

128 Money 10 

1 52 Richelieu 1 G 

160 Rienzi, 2 Parts, each 15 

176 Pelham 20 

204 Eugene Aram 20 

222 The Disowned 20 

240 Kenelm Chillingly 20 

245 What Will He Do with It ? 2 Parts, 

each 50 

247 Devereux 2 ) 

250 The Caxtous, 2 Parts, each 15 

253 Lucretia 20 

255 Last of the Barons, 2 Parts, each ... 15 

259 The Parisians, 2 Parts, each 21 

271 My Novel, 3 Parts, each 20 

276 Harold, 2 Parts, each 15 

289 Godolphin 20 

294 Pilgrims of the Rhine 15 

317 Pausanias 15 

BY LORD MACAULAY 

333 Lays of Ancient Rome 20 

BY KATHERINE S- MACftUOID 

898 Joan Wentworth 20 

BY E. MARLITT 

771 The Old Mam’selle’s Secret 20 

1029 Gold Elsie 20 

BY CAPTAIN MARRYAT 

212 The Privateersman 20 

BY HARRIET MARTINEAU 

353 Tales of the French Revolution 15 

354 Loom and Lugger 20 

357 Berkeley the Banker 20 

368 Homes Abroad 15 

363 For Each and For All 15 

372 Hill and Valley 16 

379 The Charmed Sea 15 

388 Life in the Wilds 15 

396 Sowers not Reapers 15 

400 Glen of the Echoes 15 


BY FLORENCE MARRYAT. 


007 The Master I’assion 20 

iKJ4 A Lucky Disappointment 10 

905 Her Lord and Master 20 

906 My Own Child 20 

907 No Intentions ^ 

908 Written in Fire 20 

909 A Little Stepson 10 

910 With Cupid’s Eyes 20 

931 Why Not? 20 

937 My Sister the Actress 20 

938 Captain Norton’s Diary 10 

939 Girls of Feversham 20 

940 The Root of all Evil '.20 

9l2 Facing the Footlights 20 

943 Petronel 20 

944 A Star and a Heart .10 

945 Ange 20 

946 A Harvest of Wild Outs 20 

947 The Poison of Asps 10 

948 Fair-Haired Alda 20 

949 The Heir Presumptive 20 

950 Under the Lilies and Roses 20 

951 Heart of Jane Warner 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, Part 1 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, Part II 26 

953 Phyllida 2( 

954 Out of His Reckoning 10 

‘.179 Her World against a Lie 20 

‘J90 Open Sesame 20 

991 Mad Dumaresq 20 

9‘J9 Fighting the Air 20 

BY HELEN MATHERS 

165 Eyre’s Acquittal 10 

1046 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye 20 

1047 Sam’s Sweetheart 20 

1048 Story of a Sin 20 

1049 Cherry Ripe 20 

1050 My Lady Green Sleeves . . .20 

BY A. MATHEY 

46 DukeofKandos 20 

60 The Two Duchesses 20 


BY W. S. MAYO 

76 The Berber 20 

BY j. H. McCarthy | 

115 An Outline of Irish History Id/ 

BY JUSTIN McCarthy, m.p. 

278 Maid of Athens 20 

BY T. L. MEADE 

328 How It All Came Round 20 

BY OWEN MEREDITH 

331 Lucile 20 

BY JOHN MILTON 

889 Paradise Lost 20 

BY WILLIAM MINTO 

377 Life of Defoe 10 

BY MRS. MOLESWORTH 

1008 Marrying and Giving in Marriage . .10 

BY THOMAS MOORE 

416 LallaRookh 20 

487 Poems 40 

BY J. C. MORRISON 

383 Life of Gibbon 10 


LOVELL’S LIBRAKY 


BY JOHN MORLEY 

407 Life of Burke 10 

BY EDWARD H. MOTT 

139 Pike County Folks 20 

BY ALAN MUIR 

312 Golden Girls 20 

BY LOUISA MUHLBACH 

1000 Frederick the Great and his Court. .30 

1014 The Daughter of an Empress 30 

i033 Goethe and Schiller 30 

BY MAX MULLER 

130 India : What Can It Teach Us ? .... 20 

BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY 

197 By the Gate of the Sea 15 

758 Cynic Fortune 10 

BY F. MYERS 

410 Life of Wordsworth 10 

BY MISS MULOCK 

33 John Halifax 20 

4^15 Miss Tommy 15 

751 King Arthur 20 

BY FLORENCE NEELY 

564 Hand-Book for the Kitchen 20 

BY REV. R. H. NEWTON 

83 Right and Wrong Uses of the Bible . . 20 

BY JOHN NICHOL 

347 Life of Byron 10 

BY JAMES R. NICHOLS, M.D. 

375 Science at Home 20 

BY W. E. NORRIS 

108 No New Thing 20 

592 That Terrible Man 10 

779 My Friend Jim 10 

BY CHRISTOPHER NORTH 

439 Noctes Ambrosianae 30 

BY LAURENCE OLIPHANT 

196 Altiora Peto 20 

BY MRS. OLIPHANT 

124 The Ladies Lindores 20 

179 The Little Pilgrim 10 

175 Sir Tom 20 

326 The Wizard’s Son 25 

368 Old Lady Mary 10 

602 Oliver’s Bride 10 

717 A Country Gentleman 20 

831 The Son of his Father 20 

920 J ohn : a Love Story 20 

926 A Poor Gentleman 20 

994 LucyCrofton lO 

BY OUIDA 

112 Wanda, 2 Parts, each 15 

127 U nder Two Flags, 2 Parts, each .... 20 

387 Princess N apraxine 25 

675 A Rainy June 10 

763 Moths 20 

790 Othmar 20 

805 A House Party 10 

852 Friendship 20 

853 In Maremma ^ ■ 

854 Bigna 20 

855 Pascarel 20 

Xk- 


BY MAX O’RELL 

336 John Bull and His Island . . 20 

469 John Bull and His Daughters 20 

BY ALBERT K. OWEN 

656 Integral Co-operation 30 

BY LOUISA PARR 

42 Robin 20 

BY MARK PATTISON 

392 Life of Milton 10 

BY JAMES PAYN 

187 Thicker than Water 20 

330 The Canon’s Ward 20 

659 Luck of the Darrells . . .20 

BY HENRY PETERSON 

1015 Pemberton 30 

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE 

403 Poems 20 

426 Narrative of A. Gordon Pym 15 

432 Gold Bug, and Other Tales 15 

438 The Assignation, and Other Tales.. 15 

447 The Murders in the Rue Morgue 15 

BY WILLIAM POLE, F.R.S. 

406 The Theory of the Modern Scien- 
tific Game of Whist 15 

BY ALEXANDER POPE 

391 Homer’s Odyssey 20 

396 Homer’s Iliad 30 

457 Poems 30 

BY JANE PORTER 

189 Scottish Chiefs, Part 1 20 

Scottish Chiefs, Part II 20 

382 Thaddeus of Warsaw 25 

BY C. F. POST AND FRED. C. 
LEUBUCHER 

838 The George-Hewitt Campaign. 20 

BY ADELAIDE A. PROCTER 

339 Poems 20 

BY AGNES RAY 

1010 Mrs. Gregory 20 

BY CHARLES READS 

28 Singleheart and Doubleface 10 

415 A Perilous Secret 20 

759 Foul Play 20 

773 Put Yourself in his Place 20 

913 Griffith Gaunt 20 

914 A Terrible Temptation 20 

915 Very Hard Cash 20 

916 It is Never Too Late to Mend 20 

917 The Knightsbridge Mystery 10 

918 A Woman Hater 20 

919 Readiana 10 

BY REBECCA FERGUS REDD 

16 Freckles 20 

408 The Brierfield Tragedy 20 

BY “RITA” 

556 Dame Durden 20 

599 Like Dian’s Kiss 20 

BY SIR H. ROBERTS 

101 Harry Holbrooke 20 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 


BY A. M. F. ROBINSON 

134 Aiden 15 


341 


BY J. C. F. VON SCHILLER 

Schiller’s Poems 20 


411 


837 


329 


159 


497 

606 

610 

616 

621 

687 

642 

665 

672 
577 
689 
608 
698 
623 
627 
637 
639 
642 
644 
677 
650 
665 
668 
670 

673 
676 
679 
682 
685 

688 

707 

708 

713 

714 


123 

399 

833 

834 

835 

836 
997 


816 


136 

965 


27 

710 


BY REGINA MARIA ROCHE 


Children of the Abbey 30 

BY BLANCHE ROOSEVELT 

Marked “ In Haste ” 20 

BY DANTE ROSSETTI 

Poems 20 

BY MRS. ROWSON 

Charlotte Temple 10 

BY JOHN RUSKIN 

Sesame and Lilies 10 

Crown of Wild Olives 10 

Ethics of the Dust 10 

Queen of the Air 10 

Seven Lamps of Architecture 20 

Lectures on Architecture and Paint- 
ing 15 

Stones of Venice, 3 Vols., each 25 

Modem Painters, Vol. 1 20 

“ “ Vol. II 20 

“ . “ Vol. Ill 20 

“ Vol. IV 25 

‘ “ Vol. V 25 

King of the Golden River 10 

Unto this Last 10 

Munera Pulveris 15 

“A Joy Forever” 15 

The Pleasures of England 10 

The Two Paths 20 

Lectures on A.rt 15 

Aratra Pentelici 15 

Time and Tide 15 

Mornings in Florence 15 

St. Mark’s Rest 15 

Deucalion 15 

Art of England 15 

Eagle’s Nest 15 

“ Our Fathers Have Told Us” 15 

Proserpina 15 

Val d’Arno 15 

Love’s Meinie 15 

Fors Clavigera, Part 1 30 

“ “ Part IT 30 

“ “ Part III 30 

“ “ Part IV 30 


BY MICHAEL SCOTT 

171 Tom Cringle’s Log 20 

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT 

145 Ivanhoe, 2 Parts, each 15 

359 Lady of the Lake, with Notes 20 

489 Bride of Lammermoor 20 

490 Black Dwarf 10 

492 Castle Dangerous 15 

493 Legend of Montrose 15 

495 The Surgeon’s Daughter 1( 

499 Heart of Mid-Lothian 30 

502 Waverley 20 

504 Fortunes of Nigel 20 

509 Peveril of the Peak 30 

515 The Pirate 20 

586 Poetical Works 40 

-644 Redgauntlet 25 

561 Woodstock 20 

657 Count Robert of Paris 20 

669 The Abbot 20 

575 Quentin Durward 20 

581 The Talisman 20 

586 St. Ronan’s Well 20 

695 Anne of Geierstein 20 

605 Aunt Margaret’s Mirror 10 

W7 Chronicles of the Canongate 15 

609 The Monastery 20 

620 Guy Mannering 20 

625 Kenilworth 25 

629 The Antiquary 20 

632 Rob Roy 20 

635 The Betrothed 20 

638 Fair Maid of Perth 20 

641 Old Mortality 20 

BY EUGENE SCRIBE 

22 Fleurette 20 

BY PRINCIPAL SHAIRP 

334 Life of Burns 10 

BY MARY W. SHELLEY 

5 Frankenstein 10 

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 

549 Complete Poetical Works 30 


BY W. CLARK RUSSELL 

A Sea Queen 

John Holdsworth 

A Voyage to the Cape 

Jack’s Courtship 

A Sailor’s Sweetheart 

On the Fo’k’sle Head 

The Golden Hope 

BY DORA RUSSELL 

The Broken Seal 

BY GEORGE SAND 

The Tower of Percemont 

The Lilies of Florence 

BY MRS. W. A. SAVILLE 

Social Etiquette 

BY J. X. B. SAINTINE 

Ficciola 


,20 

,20 

20 

,20 

20 

20 

20 

20 


20 

20 


15 

10 


BY S. SHELLEY 

191 The Nautz Family 20 

BY WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS 

640 The Partisan 30 

648 Mellich ampe 30 

653 The Yemassee ^ 

657 Katherine Walton 30 

662 Southward Ho 1 30 

671 The Scout 30 

674 The Wigwam and Cabin 30 

677 V asconselos 30 

680 Confession 30 

684 Woodcraft 30 

687 Richard Hurdis 30 

690 Guy Rivers 30 

693 Border Beagles 30 

The Forayers 30 

702 Charlemont 30 

703 Eutaw 30 

705 Bcauchampc ,.30 


LOVELL'S LIBRARY, 


BY J. H. SHORTHOUSE 

832 Sir Percival 10 

BY J. P. SIMPSON 

126 Haunted Hearts 10 

BY EDITH SIMCOX 

513 Men, Women, and Lovers 20 

BY A. P. SINNETT 

924 Karma 20 

BY HAWLEY SMART 

780 Bad to Beat 10 

BY SAMUEL SMILES 

426 Self-Help 25 

BY A. SMITH 

694 A Summer in Skye 20 

BY GOLD WIN SMITH 

110 False Hopes 15 

424 Life of Cowper 10 

BY J. GREGORY SMITH 

65 Selma 15 

BY S. M. SMUCKER 

248 Life of Webster, 2 Parts, each 15 

BY F. SPIELHAGEN 

449 Quisiana 20 

BY LESLIE STEPHEN 

396 Life of Pope 10 

401 Life of J ohnson 10 

BY STARKWEATHER AND 
WILSON 

461 Socialism 10 

BY STEPNIAK 

173 Underground Eussia 20 

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

767 Kidnapped 20 

768 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. 

Hyde 10 

769 Prince Otto 10 

770 The Dynamiter 20 

793 New Arabian Nights 20 

319 Treasure Island 20 

921 The Merry Men 20 

BY HESBA STRETTON 

729 In Prison and Out 20 

BY EUGENE SUE 

772 Mysteries of Paris, 2 Parts, each . . .20 
776 The Wandering Jew, 2 Parts, each .20 

BY DEAN SWIFT 

68 Gulliver’s Travels 20 


BY CHAS. ALGERNON SWIN- 
BURNE. 

412 Poems 20 

BY J. A. SYMONDS 

361 Life of Shelley 10 

BY K. A. TAINE 

142 Taint’s BugUeli Literatuio -10 


BY NIKOLAI G. TCHERNUISH- 


COSKY 

1017 A Vital Question 30 

BY LORD TENNYSON 

446 Poems 40 

BY W. M. THACKERAY 

141 Henry Esmond 20 

143 Denis Duval 20 

148 Catherine 10 

156 Lovel, the Widower 10 

164 Barry Lyndon 20 

172 Vanity Fair.... 30 

193 History of Pendennis, 2 Parts, each. .20 

211 The Newcomes, 2 Part^, each 20 

220 Book of Snobs 10 

229 Paris Sketches 20 

235 Adventures of Philip, 2 Parts, each . . 15 

238 The Virginians, 2 Parts, each 20 

252 Critical Keviews, etc 10 

256 Eastern Sketches 10 

262 Fatal Boots, etc 10 

264 The Four Georges 10 

280 Fitzboodle Papers, etc 10 

283 Roundabout Papers 20 

285 A Legend of the Rhine, etc 10 

286 Cox’s Diary, etc 10 

292 Irish Sketches, etc 20 

296 Men’s Wives .' 10 

300 Novels by Eminent Hands 10 

303 Character Sketches, etc 10 

304 Christmas Books 20 

306 Ballads .-...15 

307 Yellowplush Papers 10 

309 Sketches and Travels in London. ... 10 

313 English Humorists 15 

316 Great Hoggarty Diamond IQ 

320 The Rose and the Ring 10 

BY JUDGE D. P. THOMPSON 

21 The Green Mountain Boys 20 

BY THEODORE TILTON 

94 Tempest Tossed, Part 1 2(J 

94 Tempe.st Tossed, Part II 20 

BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE 

133 Mr. Scarborough’s Family, 2 Parts, 

each 15 

251 Autobiography of Anthony Trollope. 20 

344 Life of Thackeray 10 

367 An Old Man’s Love 15 

BY F. A. TUPPER 

895 Moonshine 20 

BY J. VAN LENNEP 

468 The Count of Talavera 20 

BY VIRGIL 

.640 Poems 25 

BY JULES VERNE 

34 800 Leagues on the Amazon 10 

35 The Cryptogram 10 

154 Tour of the World in Eighty Days. .20 

166 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea 20 

185 The Mysterious Island, 3 Parts, each.l5 

BY QUEEN VICTORIA 

366 More Leaves from a Life in the High- 

16 


LOVELL’S LIBRAKY. 


BY L. B. WALFORD. 

1056 Mr. Smith 20 

1050 The History of a Week 10 

1057 The Baby's Grandmother 20 

1058 Troublesome Daughter 20 

1059 Cousins 20 

BY GEORGE WALKER 

13 The Three Spaniards 20 

BY PROF. A. W. WARD 

413 Life of Chaucer 10 

BY F. WARDEN 

757 Doris’ Fortune 10 

980 At the W orld’s Mercy 10 

981 The House on the Marsh 20 

982 Deldee 20 

983 A Prince of Darkness 20 

BY SAMUEL WARREN 

936 Ten Thousand a Year, Part 1 20 

“ “ “ Paitll 20 

“ “ “ Part III ....20 

BY DESHLER WELCH 

427 Life of Grover Cleveland 20 

BY E. WERNER 

614 At a High Price 20 

734 Vineta 20 

BY MRS. HENRY WOOD 

54 East Lynne 20 

902 The Mystery 20 

BY MRS. WHITCHER 

194 Widow Bedott Papers 20 

BY J. G. WHITTIER 

450 Poems 20 

BY VIOLET WHYTE 

96^1 Her Johnnie. 20 

BY W. M. WILLIAMS 

80 Science in Short Chapters 20 


BY N. P. WILLIS 

352 Poems 20 

BY C. F. WINGATE 

830 Twilight Club Tracts 20 

BY EDMUND YATES 

723 Punning the Gauntlet 20 

724 Broken to Harness 20 


BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE 


858 A Modern Telemachus 20 

899 LoveandLife 20 

BY ERNEST A. YOUNG 

666 Barbara’s Rival 20 

691 A Woman’s Honor 20 


MISCELLANEOUS 

26 Life of Washington 20 

37 Paul and Virginia 10 

47 Baron Munchausen 10 

63 The Vendetta, by Balzac 20 

66 Margaret and her Bridesmaids 20 

72 Queen of the County 20 

98 The Gypsy Queen 20 

118 A. New Lease of Life 20 

169 Beyond the Sunrise 20 

181 Whist, or Bumblepuppy? 10 

360 Modern Christianity a Civilized 

Heathenism 15 

2(56 Plutarch’s Lives, 6 Parts, each 20 

291 Famous Funny Fellows 20 

323 Life of Paul Jones 20 

332 Every-Day Cook-Book 20 

340 Clayton’s Rangers 20 

385 Swiss Family Robinson 20 

386 Childhood of the World 10 

397 Arabian Nights’ Entertainments 25 

402 How He Reached the White House. 25 

433 Wrecks in the Sea of Life 20 

434 Typhaines Abbey 26 

483 The Child Hunters 1.5 

857 A W'ilful Young Woman 20 

966 The Story of Our Mess 20 

967 The Three Bummers 20 

1019 Soeur Louise 20 


Any number in the above list can generally be obtained from all booksellers and 
newsdealers, or when it cannot be so obtained, will be sent, /ree 6^/ mail, on receipt of 
price by the publishers. 


JOHN 

p, O. Box 1993, 


W. LOVELL COIVIPANY, 

14 AND 16 Vesey St., New York.. 



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Lovell’s Household Library. 


This admirable series of Popular Books is printed on 
heavier and larger paper than other cheap series, and is 
substantially bound in an attractive cover. 

The following are the earlier issues. The best works of 
new fiction will be added as rapidly as they appear. 


1 A Wicked Girl, by M. C. Hay 25 

2 The Moonstone, by Collins 25 

3 Moths, by Ouida 25 

4 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll, by R. L. 

Stevenson ; and Faust 25 

6 Peck’s Bad Boy and his Pa, by Geo. 
W. Peck 25 

6 Jane Eyre, by Charlotte BrontS 25 

7 Peck’s Sunshine, by Geo. W. Peck. .25 

8 Adam Bede, by George Eliot 25 

9 Bill Nye and Boomerang, by Bill 

Nye Himself 25 

10 What WUl the World Say ? ....25 

11 Lime Kiln Club, byM. Quad 25 

12 She, by H. Rider Haggard 25 

13 Dora Thorne, by B. M. Clay 25 

14 File No. 113, by E. Gaboriau 25 

16 Phyllis, by The Duchess 25 

16 Lady Val worth’s Diamonds, and The 

Haunted Chamber, by The Duchess.25 
IT A House Party, and A Rainy June, 
by Ouida 25 

18 Set in Diamonds, by B. M. Clay 25 

19 Her Mother’s Sin, by B. M. Clay 25 

20 Other People’s Money, by Gaborlau.25 


21 Airy Fairy Lilian, by The Duchess., 25 

22 In Peril of His Life, by Gaboriau 25 

23 The Old Mam’selle’s Secret, by E. A. 

Marlitt ... 25 

24 The Guilty River and The New Mag- 

dalen, by Wilkie Collins 25 

25 John Halifax, by Miss Mulock 25 

26 Marjorie, by B. M. Clay 25 

27 Lady Audley’s Secret, by Braddon. .25 

28 Peck’s Pun, by George W. Peck 25 

29 Thorns and Orange Blossoms, by B. 

M. Clay 25 

30 East Lynne, by Mrs, Wood 25 

31 B^ng Solomon’s Mines, M Haggard.. 25 

32 The Witch’s Head, by Haggard 25 

33 The Master Passion, by Marryat. . . .25 

84 Jess, by H. Rider Haggard 25 


35 Molly Bawn, by The Duchess 25 

36 Fair Women, by Mrs. Forrester 25 

37 The Merry Men, by Stevenson 25 

38 Old Myddleton’s Money, by Hay 25 

89 Mrs. Geoffrey, by The Duchess 25 

40 Hypatia, by Rev. Charles Kingsley. , 25 

41 W’hat Would You Do Love ? 25 

42 Eli Perkins, Wit, Humor, and Pa- 

thos ... 25 

43 Heart and Science, by Collins 25 

44 Baled Hay, by Bill Nye 25 

45 Harry Lorrequer, by Lever 25 

46 Called Back and Dark Days, by Hugh 

Conway 25 

47 Endymion, by Benjamin Disraeli. . . .25 

48 Claribel’s Love Story, by B.M. Clay. 25 

49 Forty Liars, by Bill Nye 25 

60 Dawn, by H. Rider Haggard 25 

61 Shadow of a Sin, and Wedded and 

Parted, by B. M. Clay 25 

62 Wee Wifie, by Rosa N. Carey 25 

63 The Dead Secret, by Collins 25 

54 Count of Monte Crlsto, by Dumas... 50 
66 The Wandering Jew, by Sue 60 

66 The Mysteries of Paris, by Sue 60 

67 Middlemarch, by George Eliot 60 

68 Scottish Chiefs, by Jane Porter 60 

69 Under Two Flags, by Ouida 60 

60 David Copperfleld, by Dickens 50 

61 Monsieur Lecoq, by Gaboriau 60 

62 Springhaven, by R. D, Blackmore. ..25 

63 Speeches of Henry Ward Beecher on 

the War 60 

64 A Tramp Actor 25 

65 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, by 

Jules Verne 25 

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1006 A Daughter of the People, by 

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1007 Redeemed by Love, by B. M. Clay.20 

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ME. SMITH 




L. B. WABFORD 
% % 

AUTHOR OF “the HISTORY OF A WEEK,” “THE B.VBY’S GRAND- 
MOTHER,” ETC., ETC. 



NEW YORK ^ 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

14 AND 16 Vesey Street 




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MR. SMITH: 

_A. IPa;3?l3 o± IE3I±s Xj±±e. 

By L. B. WALFORD. 


CHAPTER I. 

MR. SMITH. 

A SHORT, stout, gray man. 

Mr. Smith. 

The butcher was disappointed that he wasn’t a family. He 
had been led to expect that he was a family. All the time that 
house was building he had made up his mind that it was for a 
family. 

There was rooms in it as ought to have been family rooms. 
There was rooms as meant roast beef, and there was rooms as 
meant saddles of mutton and sweetbreads. In his mind’s eye he 
had already provided the servants’ hall with rounds, both fresh 
and salt; and treated the housekeeper to private and confidential 
kidneys. He had seen sick children ordered tender knuckles of 
veal, and growing ones strong soup. He had seen his own car 
at the backdoor every morning of the week. 

After all, it was too provoking to come down to — Mr. Smith. 

The butcher sei the example, and the grocer and the baker 
were both ready enough to follow. 

They were sure they thought there was a family. Somebody 
had told them so. They couldn’t rightly remember who. but they 
were sure it was somebody. It might have been Mr. Harrop, or 
it might have been Mr. Jessamy. 

Harrop was the innkeeper, and, with an innkeeper’s independ- 
ence, denied the imputation flat. 

He had never said a word of the sort. He had never mentioned 
such a thing as a family. Leastwise, it would be very queer if 
he had, seeing as how he had never thought it. He always knew 
Mr. Smith was Mr. Smith, a single gentleman with no incum- 
brances; but he must confess that, as to the gentleman himself, 
he iiad been led to expect that he was somehow or other different. 
Some one had told him— he couldn’t rightly remember who at 
the moment— that he was a young, dashing spark, who took a 


2 


MR. SMITH. 


deal of wine, and kept a many horses. Likewise, his informant 
had stated, he had a valet. 

J. Jessamy, hairdresser and perfumer, 39 High Street, cor- 
roborated the last statement. He didn’t know about his being 
3 oung, but he understood that he had been one as cared about 
his appearance. At the very first sight of Mr. Smith, with his 
thick iron-gray whiskers and clean-shaved lip, Jessamy threw 
down the box of sponges he was arranging, and exclaimed 
aloud, “ A* man can't make his bread off whiskers!” 

Mrs. Hunt, the doctor’s wife, from her window over the way, 
saw the sponges fall, and caught sight of Mr. Smith. 

In her private mind she w^as very much of the innkeeper’s 
opinion. The doctor might wish for a family, but her desires 
took a different form. A Mr. Smith satisfied them very well, 
but he should have been another S3rt of Mr. Smith. 

A Mr. Smith of twenty or thirty, amiable, handsome, unmar- 
ried, was the Mr. Smith she had fondly hoped to welcome. 

But this old gentleman ? No. 

Neither Maria nor Clare would ever look at him, she was sure 
of that; girls were so foolish. Those silly Tolletons wmuld laugh 
at him, as they did at everybody, and Maria and Clare would 
join in with them. 

Her face grew gloomy at the prospect, as she looked after Mr. 
Smith walking down the street. 

Many pairs of eyes followed Mr. Smith walking down the 
street that day. 

He had arrived the previous night, and had not been seen be- 
fore. The disappointment was universal. This Smith was not 
the man for them. That was the conclusion each one arrived at 
for the preseut. The future must take care of itself. 

The short, stout, gray man entered the post-office, and in- 
quired if there were any letters for him. 

“Wha’' name, sir?” 

“ Mr. Smith.'’ 

Mr. Smith go<- his letters, and then the postmaster came out 
to a lady who was sitting in her pony- carriage at the door. 

“ Beg pardon for keeping you, my lady; but had to get such 
a number for Mr. Smith.” 

‘ ‘ So that is Mr. Smith,” thought she, taking her letters. “ And 
very like a Mr. Smith, too.” 

It was but a glance; but the glance which enabled her to ascer- 
tain so much, caused her to let slip a letter from the budget, and 
it fell on the pavement. 

Mr. Smith, coming out at the moment, saw it fall. Slowlv 
and somewhat stiffly, but still before the nimble groom could 
anticipate him, he stooped and picked it up; then slightly 
raising his hat, presented it, seal upjiermost, to the lady in the 
carriage. 

Lady Sauflrenden felt a faint sensation of surprise. There 
w’as nothing in the action, of course, but there was something in 
the manner of performing it, which was not that'of a vulgar 
man; and a vulgar man she had predetermined the new pro- 
prietor to be, 


MR. SMITH. 


3 


She had to pass the house on the Hill every time she drove into 
the village, and when she heard that it was being built by a Mr. 
Smith, and that Mr. Smith himself was coming to live in it, she 
thought she knew exactly the sort of person he would be. A 
short, stout, gray man, and vulgar. 

Then she saw him face to face, and he answered to the portrait 
precisely, except — no, not vulgar, odd. 

After the affair of the letter, she never called him vulgar. 

Others saw the incident, but it caused no change in their 
opinions. It by no means altered Mrs. Hunt’s, for instance. 
Mr. Smith looked none the younger when he stooped down, and 
his age was her only objection to him. The butcher recom- 
menced his grumbling. What was a Mr. Smith to him ? He 
didn’t want no Mr. Smiths. Mr. Smith, indeed I Why, the very 
name Smith had a regular family sound. 

A Mrs. Smith, a young Smith, the Miss Smiths, Bobby Smith, 
Jack Smith, Joe Smith, the Smith’s baby, and the Smith’s gov- 
erness, seemed to him the only proper Smith connection. 

Then the grocer and the baker recurred afresh to their ideal, a 
Mr. Smith of servants. Children they set little store by, except 
as they gave rise to servants. 

Harrop lamented anev' the Mr. Smith of his imagination, a 
mixture of the stable and the cellar; and Jessamy took up his 
sponges with a sigh, and strove to efface from his memory the 
lost anticipations of waxed mustaches and scented pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs. 

Dr. Hunt met Mr. Smith, and but that his house of cards had 
long before this tumbled in the dust, it would have done so on 
the spot. 

Here was the man whom he had been looking to as the em- 
bodiment of human ailments! The Mr. Smith of measles, 
whooping-cough, and chicken-pox; winter sore throats, and 
summer chills; a Mr. Smith of accidents it might be; best of all, 
an increasing Mr. Smith. The family so ardently desired by the 
villagers he would have been proud to present to them. 

There was the man, and where was such a prospect? Tough 
as leather, and as unimpressible. He would neither prove a 
patient himself, nor take to him one w^ho would. A place like 
that, too! Why, the practice of that house on the Hill ought to 
have been a cool hundred a year in his pocket. Pish! 

There Mr. Smith was, however, be he what he might, or who 
he might, living in Mr. Smith’s house, and receiving Mr. Smith’s 
letters. There was no doubt that it was himself. If there had 
been the faintest shadow of a doubt, not one, but one and all, 
would have been glad to raise it. 

There he w^as, think what they all might, say what they all 
could. 

They did not want him there, but they could not turn him 
out. He had built his house, and he meant to come and live in 
it. Why he had built the house they could all understand. Was 
it not their own neighborhood, and had it its equal for advan- 
tages in England? The estate had always been a fine one; it 
only needed a mansion-house. 


4 


ME. SMITH. 


And the village, or the town, as it had grown to be, was so 
conveniently near; and was within an hour and a half of Lon- 
don by train; and it had two daily posts and a telegraph office; 
a railway station, livery stables, and nursery gardens. 

It was no wonder that Mr. Smith should think of building the 
house on the Hill; but having done so, they were unreasonably 
ill-pleased that he should wish to come and live in it. 

People said he had lived abroad. Well, why could he not 
have gone on living there? Others would have made the prop- 
erty as good a speculation for themselves, and a deal better for 
them as had lived there before. 

One thing, however, told in favor of the new-comer. He was 
rich. He had not met their expectations in any other way, but 
he had not failed in this. He really and truly was rich. His 
fortune was there. It had not melted, as money usually does, 
when too curiously pried into. 

The amount, indeed, had been difficult to settle. At first it was 
thirty, but it had passed through the different gradations of 
tweiity-five, and twenty, to ten thousand a- year. 

His servants deponed to its being ten. Several of them had 
heard Mr. Smith say so. 

Upon investigation, it proved to have been, not Mr. Smith 
who said so, but his lawyer. The lawyer’s phrase was, “ A man 
like you with ten thousand a-year.” And this, of course, as 
lawyer’s evidence, was even more conclusive than if it had been 
given by their master himself. 

The money was therefore secure, and they must make what 
they could out of it. It at least had not cheated them. They 
bowed low to the fortune. Although it had been reported at 
thirty, it was held to have stood the test well, when proved to 
be ten. 


CHAPTER II. 

WHO WAS TO BE THE FIRST? 

The next point was, who was to call on Mr. Smith? 

Public expectation pointed first to the rector. But the rector, 
between his sore throats, his daily services, and his confidence 
that the new comer would prove an orthodox parishioner, since 
he had cushioned and carpeted a church pew for his own par- 
ticular use, was slow to fulfill the requirements of society in the 
present instance. 

Mr. Grey was a slow, but by no means a sure man to trust to. 
On ordinary occasions nothing else was expected from him. But 
then this was not quite an ordinary case. An immense amount 
of curiosity, conjecture, and anticipatory excitement had al- 
ready been spent on the new proprietor, and it would be hard 
if all this outlay were to yield no return. 

The sickle was therefore respectfully put into the rector’s 
liand, and he was dumbly requested to lead the way and reap 
the first-fruits. 

For a while he stood still with the sickle in the hand. The 
house on the Hill was a noble building. When he saw it first 


MIL SMITH. 


5 


beginning to rise, a little of the parish ferment had worked it- 
self even into his preoccupied bosom. He felt a seething of 
surmise as to its owner, and a bubble of anxiety lest lie should 
prove schismatic. 

But Mr. Smith spoilt all. 

Before he himself appeared, the church pew was applied for; 
and when the furnitme for the house came down, the carpet 
and cushions for the pew came down with it. 

Mr. Grey felt secure, and turned him over to the curate. The 
curate was finishing his fortnight in Wales, and to wait for 
liim was impossible. 

The eyes of the population were therefore turned to the doc- 
tor, and if Mrs. Hunt had had her way, they would have been 
speedily gratified. 

But Mrs. Hunt, who had her way, if report spoke truly, on 
a great many points where perhaps it might have been as'well 
if she had not, knew that there were parts of her dominion 
into which even the sovereign was sometimes refused admit- 
tance. She thought, she fancied this would be the case in the 
present instance; but she was brave, and she determined to 
risk it. 

At once the doctor showed his bristles. “ Call on Mr. Smith, 
Polly? Not I. No one has called yet.” 

Is it so soon?” suggested she. 

“Soon? Of course it is. Ridiculously soon! the man hasn’t 
been here two days. Until I have met him out, or until some 
reasonable time has elapsed, I shall let him alone. March up 
there to-day ? No, no, you’ll not catch Robert Hunt making such 
a fool of himself.” 

“Oh dear, doctor, where’s the fool? You ought to call as the 
doctor, if not as a neighbor. Think if that Barton should get 
him!” 

The doctor turned round savagely. 

“ Call as the doctor ? I’d sooner call as the What do you 

mean by such nonsense ?” cried he, pulling up with a choke. 
“ Haven’t I told you times without number that I’m not going 
to tout for business like a railway porter, or a cabman? If I 
want Mr. Smith I shall call as a neighbor; if he doesn’t like me 
as a neighbor, he needn’t return it.” 

“ I daresay he’ll be among all the county people?” hinted she. 

“ I daresay he’ll be nothing of the sort.” 

“ Oh, 3’ou may depend upon it, he will, my dear, with a place 
like that. What is to prevent him ?” 

“ The very fact of his having that place. What brought him 
here? Nobody knows. Where does he come from? Nobody 
knows. People won’t be so keen to call as you think, I can tell 
you.” 

“Well, I saw him speaking to Lady Sauffrenden yesterday, 
at all events.” 

“ Hang Lady Sauffrenden!” 

“Never mind Lady Sauffrenden, doctor; the point is Mr. 
Smith.” 

“ What do you want with Mr. Smith ?” 


6 


MR. SMITH. 


“ Only to be neighborly, I’m sure, and — have him here some- 
times, you know. With neither wife, nor sister, nor any one be- 
longing to him, he must be often dull of an evening, and would 
like to come down now and then, I daresay. The girls would 
amuse him.” 

“ So that’s what you’re after, Polly. Why, the man’s as old 
as I am,” 

Having recovered from the first shock of this suspicion her- 
self, it behooved her, if she could not dissipate the suspicion, at 
least to soften the shock, to her husband. 

“ That’s not so old either, Robert. He’s a fine-looking man, 
and a bachelor’s always younger than other men.” 

“ I don’t see that. I think I’m as young-looking as Smith any 
day. Stout, apoplectic ” 

“Oh, dear, doctor, don’t go and speak against him — you 
might just as well give him a chance. WTiat’s a few years more 
or less? And they do say he has twenty thousand a year.” 

“ No, Polly, it’s ten. It has come down to ten since he ar- 
rived. However, ten would be enough for me; humph!” 

“ So you see you might just as well call as other people,” nod- 
ded his wife, knowingly. 

“If I call now, ma’am, can't 3"OU see that it means a doctor’s 
call — a village doctor in search of patients ? Do you think that 
that's a likely way to bring Mr. Smith forward as a suitor for 
your daughter?” cried he, with no subterfuge of language. “ I 
know the world a little better than you do, Mrs. Hunt; it’s only 
those who have something to get by it who rush at every new 
man. I’ll take care Smith doesn’t go past me, but I don’t mean 
him to find that out. I’m not going to be known as the village 
doctor to anybody. What is the use of your fine connections if 
that is the only footing we have to stand upon? If I had not 
taken the greatest care in the world we should never have been 
where we are now. It is not everybody in our position who has 
the footing we have. Scarcely a house in the neighborhood we 
don’t go to, once a year at least. I mean to call on this Mr. 
Smith, of course; but I shall wait a little till some of the other 
people have been. Then I call as a neighbor, among the other 
neighbors. Then you may try to hook him if you can.” 

“ I’m afraid the girls will laugh at him.” 

‘"What is there to laugh at?” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know, but they are always quizzing people, 
as they call it. They’ll say he’s a regular old quiz.” 

“ They’ll be great fools then.” 

“ It’s the Tolleton girls that set them on.” 

“ The Tolleton girls would be glad to catch Mr. Smith for one 
of themselves.” 

“That they would, Robert! That’s what I say. Old Tolleton 
will be going and calling there to-day, — see if he doesn’t!” 

“ I met him coming out of the gate just now,” said the doc- 
tor, vv^ith a grin. 

“There now! Didn’t I tell you? They’ll have asked him to 
dinner as sure as eggs are eggs, and he’ll be there all day long!” 

“ You needn’t put yourself about, for they haven’t done it 


ME. SMITH. 


7 


yet, Polly. Mrs. Tolleton, the old lady, is just dead, and he was 
telling me how they couldn’t have any company just now on 
that account, but he had been up to call. However, Mr. Smith 
was out.” 

“ As if they couldn’t have waited to call, and his own mother 
barely buried!” cried Mrs. Hunt. “ The way some people will 
rush at everybody they think a catch, in the very face of de- 
cency !” 

“ It is just what you wanted me to do.” 

“ No, indeed, doctor; there’s all the difference in the world. 
Your mother has been dead these twenty years; there’s no rea- 
son in the world why you shouldn’t call at once.” 

“ There's no reason why I should, and that's more to the pur- 
pose. Who thinks anything of Tolleton. just because he’s always 
thrusting his card upon everybody ? And if I did the same they 
would think still less of me. The Tolletons are a cut above us. 
You be patient, Polly, and I’ll do the right thing at the right 
time.” 

Mrs. Hunt drummed her feet upon the floor. It was hard to 
be patient, when a few minutes before she had seemed so nearly 
victorious. When, too, he had not been blind to her wishes, 
but had understood and plainly spoken them out, yet had not, 
as many an unreasonable husband would have done, forbidden 
her to carry them into effect. 

The Tolletons, if they had an end in view, generally managed 
to attain it, in spite of c’eaths and other inconveniences. Mr. 
Smith would be there at dinner ere long, — would perhaps be in- 
timate at Freelands before the Hunts even knew him. 

The girls might laugh at Mr. Smith, and call him an old quiz, 
as she had predicted, but that was no reason why, as the doctor 
had rejoined, they would not be glad enough to catch him if 
they could. 

The worst of it was, that Maria and Clare, who always did 
whatever the Tolleton girls did, would laugh with them at Mr. 
Smith, and call him an old quiz likewise, but would never be 
able to detect if the other prophecy also came true, and the Miss 
Tolletons had a serious aim beneath their pleasantry. 

She was already certain that such w^as, or would be, the case. 

If not, why had Mr. Tolleton been the first to call? He always 
was the first to call on everybody, it was true, but it was liis 
daughters who egged him on to it. The way those girls did 
manage to scratch up acquaintance with people by hook or 
by crook, really was disgracefuf. Anybody could get good so- 
ciety if they chose to buffet their way into it as they did. 

Theje was Helen, when the autumn maneuvers were going 
on, driving about the heath all day long. Tea at the camp — 
picnics— luncheon parties at the Tolletons every day in the week: 
•and old Tolleton calling here and calling there, and fairly l^eg- 
ging the young men to come and drink his wine, and eat his 
mutton. 

Mrs. Hunt did not reflect that the young men were very easy 
to Ik? entreated. 


8 


MR. SMITH. 


The wine and the mutton may have had some share in attract- 
ing them, but undoubtedly the Miss Tolletons had still more. 

They were generally spoken of as handsome and good fun: 
but it was shrewdly suspected that among the younger men there 
were not a few who, covering with such light praise the name of 
Helen Tolleton, went away smarting with a 'hidden wound. 

Helen s pale face did infinitely greater damage than the more 
blooming countenances of her sisters. Why she was so pale, no 
one could imagine. She was well, she was strong, she was if 
anything the healthiest of the three. Exercise or excitement 
would bring the color to her cheek at once; but when under the 
influence of neither she was pale, decidedly pale, and her cheek 
as M^ell as her forehead had a soft creamy tint. 

Carry and Lily thought that they excelled their sister in com- 
plexion, but they were ready to acknowledge her superiority in 
feature. Her blue eyes, with their long black lashes, were 
esteemed by the others her best point, although with careless 
approbation they were ready to acknowledge the symmetry of 
the small high nose, and the exquisite dip in the upper lip. 

They were proud of Helen’s beauty, and frankly repeated her 
compliments, but there was one thing they did not like her to be 
called, and that was “ delicate.” Her beauty was genuine, and 
they had no thought of jealousy on that point, but her delicacy 
was a deception. She had neither Carry’s headaches, nor Lily’s 
twinges of rheumatism, and yet she added this refined touch to 
her other fascinations. 

Helen was the one who made acquaintances for the family. 

It was she who went out walking before breakfast, and met 
people by accident. She who brought in strangers to see papa’s 
collection of curiosities. Her photograph book was the show 
one; and the photographs contained therein w'ere so many, and 
so frequently altered, that her sisters were often puzzled to ac- 
count for new phenomena. 

All three made button-hole bouquets in perfection, but Helen 
expected the first pick of the flowers. The first pick of partners 
for croquet was hers also; and whenever any unexceptionable 
young chrysalis of a husband appeared on the horizon, it was 
understood that Helen would be the proper wife for him. 

If these privileges, however, were conceded by the younger 
Miss Tolletons, with ready grace, they in their turn exacted 
demands from other young ladies. 

It is not every family who possesses a distinguished beauty; 
and Carry and Lily felt that they might themselves have reign- 
ed as suns in lesser spheres. 

Had either of them been born in the doctor’s family, for 
example, she would have been the center of attraction. As it 
was, the doctor’s daughters paid due homage; and it was no 
more than true what Mrs. Hunt alleged, that whatever the 
Tolleton girls did, hers would do. 

She had been, she still was, proud of the Tolletons’ friendship. 
She frequently boasted of her intimacy at Freelands. She never 
refused an invitation to the house, and she went there a great 
many times without any invitation at all; but then, you know, 


MR. 


9 


she thought all that was one thing, and to love one’s neighbor 
as one’s self was another. 

“Those Tolleton girls are doing ours no good,” was a frequent 
remark in her mouth; but when it came to particulars, she had 
nothing more to say. She had that ineffective way of inveigh- 
ing against things wholesale, which is at once so disagreeable 
and so incontrovertible. She was always complaining, but 
never suggested a remedy. “ I sup^jose they have been again 
with those Tolleton girls?” she would say, if hers were out 
late. “ Which of the Tolleton girls did you get that thing 
from ?” if it did not please her. Both remarks being uttered in 
a disparaging tone, but no definite disapprobation expressed. 
In consequence, Maria and Clare went on just as thej’^ had done 
before. It w as mamma’s way, and meant nothing. 

They dearly loved the society of the Miss Tolletons. Their 
mother thought that from it they got no good, but wddely dif- 
ferent was their own opinion. They leamt, they imagined, 
everything from these dear friends. 

Thus in their dress. Now’ the Miss Tolletons having fine, tall, 
well- molded figures, and inclinations rather of the dashing than 
the gentle sort, affected something of a masculine style. 

They wore rough, tight-fitting jackets, with large buttons, 
high plumy hats, and all sorts of belts and buckles round their 
waists. 

Whether it w’ere to be admired or not, the style was not one 
to be universally imitated. Least of all should Maria and Clare 
Hunt have presumed to copy. 

They had no beauties of face or figure, and only soft fabrics 
and delicately blended colors could, at the best, have made them 
look neat and lady-like. 

This did not meet their views at all. They wished to look 
trim, and bright, and sparkling, like Helen Tolleton, who al- 
w’ays wore a background of black to set off her pale face, and to 
w’hora the addition of a scarlet or rose colored shawl w’as like 
paint. 

Accordingly the Hunts wore black and rose-color likewise. 

They saved up their money and got sashes of the same brilliant 
hue. They sewed buckles on their shoes, and w’ore in winter 
furry things about their w’rists and ankles. 

Thus they appeared, in their own eyes, faithful copies of per- 
fect models, but it is to be feared in the eyes of impartial spec- 
tators, a pair of extraordinarily ill-dressed and ill-looking young 
women. 

See, Maria is just come in from her walk wdth these chosen 
companions. Her mother know’s she has been wdth them, and 
is generally dissatisfied. She looks her over and begins to 
peck. 

“I don’t like that jacket, Maria: it doesn’t set well.” 

“Oh, mamma, I thought Miss Platt had made it so beauti- 
fully.” 

“No, she hasn’t, or else it’s the material. I can’t tell which 
it is, but it makes you look as thick again. It may be the trim- 
mings, perhaps. I don’t like it’s being open at the neck, either,” 


Si, 


10 


MR, SMITH. 


“Lily TolletOD says they are all being worn open at the neck 
now; no one ever thinks of wearing them shut.” 

“ You’ll catch your death of cold,” grunts the doctor, who has 
not yet gone out after his conversation with his wife about Mr. 
Smith. 

“No, papa. I’m quite warm,” b('ginning to cough at the same 
moment. 

“ Why, you have a cold already, child.” 

“I had that before I went out, papa. I felt it this moraing 
when I awoke, indeed I did.” 

“ All the more absurd to expose your throat in a cold wind. 
I never heard of such a thing! Now, look here, you’ll have a 
mustard blister on to-night, all over the place; keep it on some 
time too, and close up that jacket before you wear it again. Do 
you hear ? Now mind you do as I tell you. I’m not going to 
have my daughters lose their health for all the Lily Tolletons and 
fashion-books in existence.” 

“ I can put on the blister, papa, although it is really hardly 
worth it, my cold is so little; but a nice warm necktie would be 
far better than closing up the jacket, it would spoil the whole 
shape,” pleads poor Maria, who with a little more cunning 
would have said no more. 

“ Spoil it then: it’s a mad shape.” 

“ I can’t doit, papa; I don’t know how. I don’t believe it can 
be done. Mamma, will you tell him it can’t be done ?” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know. I don’t like it myself. I don’t see 
what is to be done to it, I'm sure.” 

“ I’m sure it looks very nice.” (Maria, injured and unbeliev- 
ing.) “ I meant it to be my best all winter, and now you’re all 
against it. It’s very hard.” 

“ Here, let me see; perhaps I can make it better,” replies her 
mother, pulling open the offending garment,- and beginning to 
push and tug it about. “ Give me a pin: I dare say it could be 
brought together.” 

“I don’t want it brought together; I like it far better open. 
Do leave it alone, mamma.” 

“You won’t have it open. You may either wear it close or 
not at all, Maria, so take your choice.” 

The doctor delivers his verdict, and stamps out of the room. 

Maria has the tears in her eyes. 

“It’s too bad. Why did you begin about it, mamma? You 
might have kno\7n it would have set papa off. He always com- 
plains of everything I wear.” 

“I’m doing all I can for you; I wish you would stand still,” 
replies Mrs. Hunt, still uncomfortably tugging and pushing the 
jacket. “ I don’t know what’s the matter with it, I’m sure. It 
won’t look w’ell any way.” 

“What is the matter with it, mamma? You keep saying it 
doesn’t look well, and it doesn’t look well, and you won’t tell me 
where the fault is.” 

“It’s just altogether, I think. It’s too big for you, and too 
thick. Somehow you look all of a bunch.” 

Maria twists herself out of her mother’s hands. 


MR. SMITH. 


n 


‘*I do not look all of a bunch, mamma; and I wish you wouldn’t 
be 80 disagreeable. Why don’t you go on at Clare about hers ?’* 

“ I’m sure I do; I’m always speaking to you both, but it’s of 
no use. Neither of you ever care for anything I say. Where is 
Clare now ?” 

With the Tolletons, of course. Clare had gone down the 
street hanging anxiously on Lily Tolleton’s rear, who in her 
good-nature, had promised her a sight of Mr. Smith. Maria 
confesses the fact, well aware of what will follow. 

“Humph! What does she go with the Tolletons for ? And 
where was Mr. Smith ?” 

Mr. Smith had been seen Jat [the station, fand the fortunate 
spectators had not been selfish, but had desired to extend the 
privilege to their less happy acquaintance. 

Such was the substance of Maria’s information; and Mrs. 
Hunt humphs again as she hears it. 

“ What did they say of Mr. Smith ?” 

“ Oh, they were laughing so about him. They say he’s a sort 
of old-young man — neither one thing nor the other — the funniest 
combination.” 

“ I knew they would! Just like them! And now they’ll be 
setting their caps at him as hard as ever they can!” 

“At him! Goodness, mamma, they say he is as old as the 
hills! That was the fun of it.” 

“ He’s nothing of the sort, then: he*s not so old as your fatl.er, 
who was fifty last March. He can’t be far on in the forties yet; 
and that’s nothing when there’s twenty thousand a year. Take 
my word for it, Helen Tolleton will have a try for that twenty 
thousand.” 

“Helen was the very one who joked about him and Miss 
Bain. She said he was the very husband for Miss Bain.” 

“I knew’ it!” exclaims Mrs. Hunt, bitterly; “ I said that was 
just what she w’ould do. Get you and your sister to laugh at 
him and snub him, and then go and make up to him herself! 
Do you know those girls set their father on to call to-day ?” 

“ They said he thought he ought to call.” 

“ He think! he never thinks anything but what they bid him,” 
retorts the unsparing tongue. “That is what they did, I can 
tell you; and his mother just laid in her grave.” 

“ Mr. Smith’s mother!” 

“And why not, pray? Why should Mr. Smith not have a 
mother as w’ell as other people? But it was the Tolletons I 
meant; and Mr. Tolleton is many a year older than Mr. Smith, I 
imagine. I suppose you think, because he dyes his whiskers, 
and wears a wig, and pinches in his feet, that he is quite a 
young man!” 

“He’s a very nice man, mamma. I didn’t suppose he could 
be exactly young; though he alw’ays says nobody will believe 
t hat he can have three grown-up daughters. But I don’t be- 
lieve he w’ears a wig.” 

“ It’s the most barefaced wig I ever saw in my life. It doesn’t 
even come properly down to toe back of his neck. But any one 
of the Tolletons can take you in.” 


12 


3m. SMITH. 


“ There were such a number of boxes for Mr. Smith at the sta- 
tion.” Maria prudently changes the subject. “Do you know, 
mamma, he has a picture-gallery, and the Tolletons say it would 
make the most splendid ball-room. They are going to get him 
to give a ball in it.” 

“ Tlie impudence of those girls!” exclaims Mrs. Hunt, throw- 
ing back her cap strings, and reddening with wrath. “ They get 
him to give a ball! I’d like to hear them ask it. What business 
have they with him, or he with them, I should like to know? 
Common decency might have prevented them thinking of such 
a thing — just now, at all events, with their poor grand- 
mother ” 

“Oh, that was what they said, mamma. They said it must 
not be just yet, because of old Mrs. Tolleton ” 

“ And what has old Mrs. Tolleton to do with Mr. Smith?” 

“ Why you were saying this very moment, mamma, how could 
they get him to give a ball when old Mrs. Tolleton ” 

“ Maria, you are the stupidest girl! What business have the 
Tolletons to" ask Mr. Smith about a ball, or about anything else ? 
It’s not one thing more than another! What have they to do 
with him at all ? That's what I mean. Laying siege to him in 
this way; and actually taking possession of the man before they 
have ever met him!” 

“They have met him; Helen met him yesterday.” 

Mrs. Hunt, fairly gasping — “You don’t say it; she never has, 
surely! Well, that beats all! I would hardly have believed 
that, even of Helen Tolleton!” 

“ What in the world do you mean, mamma ? How could 
Helen help it ? She was out riding past his gate, and dropped 
her whip just as he came out; so of course he picked it up for 
her, and they got to talk.” 

“Oh, of course.” Very bitter is this rejoinder. “And of 
course she is in the habit of dropping her whip; and of course 
she laughed at him, and called him old and fat and ugly; and if 
she can manage to be Mrs. Smith before the year is out, she will.” 

“ Well, I’ve seen Mr. Smith!” cries a fresh voice in the door- 
way. “ He’s not so bad after all, I can tell you. And fancy, 
mamma, he had such a grand footman.” 

“Quite right, too, in a house like that. Most people would 
have a butler.” 

“ I don’t know that he hasn’t a butler; but it was a footman 
at the station. I didn’t know that he would come out in that 
style.” 

‘ ‘ What style did you expect ? All the people round about have 
men-servants.” 

“ But I didn’t know he was going to be one of them. I 
thought he would be one of us.” 

“I hope there is no such great difference,” says Mrs. Hunt, 
with an air caught from her husband. 

“Well, we have only a maid; and you know what I mean, 
mamma. People always seemed to think Mr. Smith w^ould be- 
long to the village. I don’t believe he will now. Nobody would 
who could go on as he is going.” 


MR, SMITH, 


13 


“Don’t get vulgar notions, Clare. I’ve always warned you 
against that.” 

“ But you haven’t heard me out, mamma. The horses are to 
come next week; and there are going to be such a lot of green- 
houses; and another avenue along the low valley; and a boat- 
house, and a fountain, or grotto, or something, by the river. 
Oh, and the out-door bell! that huge thing was the bell, Maria.” 

All this is mingled sweet and bitter to Mrs. Hunt. It is de- 
lightful to see how much higher Mr. Smith is held in Clare’s 
estimation than in Maria’s. Clare has not said one word in dis- 
paragement of Mr. Smith, and is excited and interested about 
him. She has not repeated a single condemnatory clause of the 
Tolletons. She is alive to the greatness of the subject. 

But then, what will become of all this most becoming eager- 
ness, if it is permitted to grow cold and die out for want of put- 
ting fuel on the fire? What is the use of her caring at all about 
Mr. Smith, if the Tolleton girls are caring likewise, and have got 
the start of her? The glories of the Hill had dazzled Clare, and 
so far well; but she almost wished that they had not been so 
obvious, that they might have had a chance of escaping the 
Tolletons’ eyes. 

The doctor was really too provoking in his pride and nonsense. 
Many a good thing he had lost, she was sure, from holding his 
head too high. She was always telling him so; but it did no 
good. And now she must wait, wait, while the Tolletons step 
into the healing pool before her very eyes. 

Thus mortifying were her reflections. 

Dr. Hunt had argued the point with her many and many a 
time. 

He had right on his side, and he argued strongly. With the 
Tolletons pushing might succeed; but it would not with him. 
Witness that affair of the Sauffrendens. Lord Sauffrenden 
never by any chance passed him by, but would stop to chat, and 
turn round and walk by his side in the most friendly manner 
possible; whereas he looked the other way if there were any 
Tolletons coming. Now, why is this?' Eh*. Hunt knows full 
well. He never called at the castle when the bride and bride- 
groom arrived from their wedding journey. He never received, 
in reply, an envelope containing frigid cards, delivered by a 
footman. He took care when he was sent for to go to Sauffren- 
den to go promptly, and retire swiftly. 

And what is the consequence? 

The Tolletons having talked of the Sauffrendens’ coming, and 
of calling on the Sauffrendens, and of the Sauffrendens’ society, 
and entertainments in prospect, could not so suddenly sink into 
absolute silence on the subject, without that silence having in it 
something ominous. 

Everybody at once knew how it had been. 

It had not perhaps been exactly forward in the Tolletons to 
make some advances; but they should have done it more cau- 
tiously. They had visited at the Castle in old times, whilst these 
three sprightly girls were still in the nursery; and the family 
had, somehow or other, been held in higher estimation than they 


14 


MR. SMITH. 


were now. Perhaps they were justified in supposing the old 
relations were to be maintained. Who was to carry to their ears 
the description given to the charming, severe, autocratic young 
bride ? How were they to know she would toss her little head 
on seeing their cards on her hall-table? Or how imagine she 
would be so particular and stupid about girls’ ways ? 

The rebuff astonished and confounded them; and Dr. Hunt, 
who had found out about it, thanked his stars that it had not 
been given to him. 

He struggled to put himself on a level with the Tolletons, and 
the Tolletons could not keep their own. They allowed him to 
obtain a footing on sufferance. 


CHAPTER III. 

A DRIVE IN THE DUSK. 

Mr. Tolleton had a simple and not uncommon method of 
estimating the merits of his fellow -men. He measured them 
precisely in accordance with the measure they took of him. 

Astronomically speaking, as soon as a foreign body made its 
appearance upon the horizon of his firmament, he rushed at it, 
and if received with a corresponding degree of warmth, if per- 
mitted to rank himself among its satellites, his desires were sat- 
isfied, and he would placidly revolve around it in an orbit more 
or less extensive. 

If, on the other hand, a repellent force threw him off, aud he 
found himself fed with neither light nor heat, he would rebound 
with a violent explosion. 

It is but due to him to state that he consciously exercised no 
repellent force in his own person. He was willing, nay, he was 
anxious, to be friends with everybody ; and when with the ut- 
most alacrity he prepared for a new friendship, if he were not 
met^t least a quarter of the way, he felt reasonably astonished 
and aggrieved. 

As soon as tidings had reached him of a new proprietor com- 
ing to the HiJl, he had set his face steadily in that direction, 
waiting for the new appearance, and therefore it was hardly 
tme in Mrs. Hunt to affirm that he would never have called had 
it not been for his daughters. The very length of time during 
which he had been anticipating this visit, had served to inflate 
his mind with eager expectations; and it was these even more 
than Helen’s hints which propelled him, with what might possi- 
bly appear a little unseemly haste, into the arms of the new- 
comer. 

After all, however, he was not the first. 

Captain Wellwood had been before him. Captain Wellwood 
had walked up to the Hill just half an hour before him; but 
neither he nor Mr. Tolleton had found Mr. Smith at home. 

Captain Philip Montgomery Wellwood, who thought a good 
deal of himself, and was of opinion that he had been thought a 
good deal of in the Blues two or three years ago, was rather sur- 
prised at having to go and call on a Mr. Smith. 

It was not his own idea to do so. In fact he would never 


^[B. .S'.l//77/. 15 

-.are thought of such a thing if it had not been for Lord Sauf- 
frenden. 

It had been one of the favors I^ord Sauffrenden was perpetually 
asking. If he did you a good turn one day, he would as cheer- 
fully ask you to do him one the next. He had no objection to 
be under an obligation; if anything, he liked it. Perhaps he 
realized the truth that the blessedness of giving may sometimes 
consist in the gift of that rare blessedness to another. 

With Philip Wellwood, however, his own old comrade, his 
chosen companion still, his one familiar friend, it was not a 
system of give and take. What Sauffrenden willed, Philip 
would do; what Philip willed Sauffrenden would anticipate. 

The latter was now in town, and the request had been con- 
veyed in a letter to his wife — the same letter, in fact, which Mr. 
Smith had picked up at the post-office door, and handed to her 
as she sat in the pony -carriage. 

The letter was very much the same as those she usually re- 
ceived from her husband. Yery badly written, very little in it; 
but as true, and frank, and hearty as "the writer was himself. 

It was a disappointing one nevertheless. She had hoped it 
would name tlie day of his return, and instead of this it inti- 
mated that he was to be yet longer absent. The business which 
took him to town was still undecided, he was awfully sorry, 
it was a dreadful bore, and he was dearest Milly’s most loving S. 

Then came a postscript. “ If Mr. Smith has come to his house 
yet, will you ask Philip to call? Ask him from me. The Lorri- 
iners know Smith, and they say he is one of the best fellows in 
the world.” 

One of the best fellows in the world ! If it had been Sauffrenden 
himself who said so — he knew many of (hat description — but the 
Lorrimers! 

Sir George Lorrimer was as unlikely to pass such a verdict as 
her husband was likely to do so. He was a man whom it was 
difficult to please, and one whom she herself considered well 
worth pleasing. If it were true that he had bestowed such an 
culogium, anything even that could be construed into such, 
when warmed up by Sauffrenden and put into his own vocabu- 
lary, it said a great deal. 

Had she owned the truth, she would hardly have supposed 
Sir George would have recognized the existence of such a nobody 
as the builder of the house on the Hill. A person of the name of 
Smith, and there was no more to be said about liini. 

It was no wonder, then, that Lady Sauffrenden was surprised. 

She thought over Mr. Smith, and could not think of anything 
against him. He w^as a quiet- looking man. He was unobjec- 
tionable. He was probably unobtrusive. In fact he was undis- 
tinguishable in any way. She w’ould not have thought of him 
twice but for that postscript. 

If Captain Wellwood were asked by her husband to call, of 
course it must mean that he himself intended to do the same. 
And then Mr. Smith must be asked to Sauffrenden. 

And then she must know liiTii. 

Would it not be rather unfortunate ? Was it not putting him 


1(5 MR. SMITH. 

a little out of his place? Could he be at home among their 
people ? 

Relief, however, was at hand. He was at home apparently 
with Sir George Lorrimer, and that was enough. 

All this passed through Lady Sauffrenden’s mind as she 
trotted her ponies home from the village, and fortunately she had 
gone some distance before she met Captain Wellwood. A more 
immediate meeting would not have allowed her to deliver her 
message with so good a grace as she now did. 

If Philip felt any of the surprise, on hearing the message, 
which Lady Sauffrenden did on reading it, at least he showed 
none. 

“I must go to-morrow, then,” he said, “as I leave next day 
for Ireland. I shall walk over to-morrow, Lady Sauffrenden. 

“Pray, don’t trouble yourself, if you are going away so soon. 
Sauffrenden would never expect it. Any time will do.” 

“ No trouble in the world, and I shall be away some weeks, so 
I had better go at once. I am going over in hopes of a little 
cocking — that is, woodcock-shooting.” 

“ I know what cocking is, and I wish you good sport, but don’t 
tease yourself about Mr. Smith. He only arrived yesterday, so 
it cannot possibly matter.” 

Captain Wellwood was the young man of the neighborhood. 

He had once been the hope of Helen Tolleton — her confident, 
comfortable hope. Then he changed into her anxiety. Finally 
into her despair. 

When he left the army tw’o years before, he was her hope. 
He was so handsome — which was hardly correct, as he was 
rather plain; so distinguished-looking — which was nearer the 
truth, on account of his height; so well born — a fact; so rich — 
a lie; that Helen declared she had lost her heart to him. 

She had said this at least half a dozen times before the possi- 
bility occurred to her of Captain Wellwood not finding, or at all 
events not picking up, the lost possession. 

It took some time to realize that such a thing might be. 

He came to the house, played croquet, shot pheasants, talked, 
laughed, and admired, and then — stopped short just where he 
ought to have gone forward. 

He did not indeed do those things which he ought not to have 
done, but he left undone those which he ought to have done. 

It was inexplicable, and he became her anxiety. What could 
be the drawback? Every art was tried — and alas! she knew 
them all — but unsuccessfully. And then, somehow or other, 
whatever the cure was, ill-natured people would have said that 
it was the discovery that instead of being rich, he was rather 
poor; but with that we have nothing to do — be the cure what it 
might, it came, and was a perfect one. 

Her anxiety died out, and he faded quite calmly into her de- 
spair. “ He was a melancholy-minded man, ’ she said, “who 
would never marry.” And that settled the question. 

Mr. Smith had once or twice met Captain Wellwood, before 
finding his card on his hall-table. He had come down in the 
train with him from London, and they had afterward passed 


MR. SMTTILr 


17 


each otlier in a doorway, and had crossed and recrossed in tlie 
village. He knew very well who he was, and thought it very 
kind both in him and Mr. Tolleton to come to the Hill so soon. 

Mr. Tolleton he did not know by sight, but as he placed tlie 
cards on the drawing-room card-tray, something in tlie name 
seemed to strike him. 

A moment after his eye brightened — he had caught the clew. 

“ It must be her father. Now I know what puzzled my thick 
old head. A good thing 1 remembered, too. One can't be par- 
ticular enough in these matters.” 

He had been called Brown once or twice in his life, and it had 
hurt him. He would not himself hurt the feelings of man, 
woman, or child for the world. 

Lord Sauffrenden’s card was not long in following the others. 
He was at home before the end of the week, and the day after 
his return, found his way to the Hill. 

The visit was a pleasant surprise. The Lorrimers had spoken 
to Mr. Smith about the Sautfrendens, but he had not supposed 
that they would speak to the Sautfrendens about him. There 
was no reason, he told himself, why Lord Sauffrenden should 
seek his acquaintance. He did not suppose he would trouble 
himself about it. It was really too kind to call the very day after 
his return from London. 

For of course Mr. Smith knew he had been in London, and 
knew exactly the time of his return. We all do know these 
things, unless we are purblinded by want of sympathy and self- 
absorption. He knew all about it, and felt a little justifiable 
pride as he carried the card to the tray — but he pushed it under- 
neath the others. 

Ah! if that card had not been fresh and new, but had been 
dirty and old, and deiX)sited months before, there are many 
card-trays on which it would have found its way to the top, 
nevertheless; but not in that house. 

It was with agreeable anticipations that Mr. Smith prepared 
for returning his visitor’s civility. 

The walk in itself would be delightful that lovely autumn day, 
and he w^as preparing to walk when a thought occurred to him. 
Suppose he met Lord or Lady Sauffrenden in the grounds. Sup- 
pose they did not know who he was, and took him for an intrud- 
er. Suppose He rang the bell, and ordered the carriage; 

he could not face the idea of such probabilities. Lord Sauffren- 
den might walk to call upon him, but he, plain John Smith, had 
better drive to call on Lady Sauffrenden. 

There was something in the little homely man’s entrance 
which struck the lady of the house as she rose to receive him. 

She had called him vulgar-looking in that momentary glance 
at the post-office door, and immediately after had canceled the 
expression, and substituted odd. But he had not been sitting 
there many minutes before she discovered that there was noth- 
ing odd about him. He did everything that other people did, 
and did it singularly well. He was, strange to say, a gentleman. 

Lord Sauffrenden looked more than once at his wife with an 
“ I told you so ” in his look. She had not been so ready as he 


18 


• Mi?. SMITH. 


thought she ought to have been in believing that Mr. Smith was 
one of the best fellows in the world. The Lorrimers’ authority 
had gone far, but in her heart she believed it had been stretched 
to its utmost limits. Sauffrenden had declined to drive with her 
the day after he came home, because he wished to call on Mr. 
Smith. It was really rather absurd. As if he could not have 
waited a day. And she had been cross and gone back to her 
former opinion of Mr. Smith; and if she had had a moment to 
think, she might have jiut on her frigid air when he was an- 
nounced at Sauffrenden. 

But she had been obliged to meet him with politeness, and 
insensibly politeness slid into cordiality. 

What a triumph for her husband! He would have made 
friends with every one, had he followed the dictates of his heart, 
and when a man came recommended by a friend! He must 
show him his kennels, his canoe, his photographic apparatus. 
He must show him the tree that was struck by lightning. 
Would he take a turn now? Then, to his surprise, his wife 
rose, saying she would get her hat, and accompany them. 

It was not often she honored a guest thus, for to tell the truth 
at once, Lady Sauffrenden liad the reputation in the county of 
being a very haughty and disagreeable young madam. 

But then Lady Sauffrenden did not consider herself blest in 
her county neighbors. 

The few whom she liked lived far away, and those nearest to 
her she shuddered at the names of. 

Was it altogether her fault, then, that it was only when alone 
with her husband, whom she loved supremely, or with the 
chosen few, whom she vaguely designated their “ people,” that 
the real Millicent shone out sparkling, warm, and free; and that 
it was no more possible for her to show herself at other times 
without the crust of formality and reserve, than for an oyster to 
tear off its shell of defense ? 

Her husband had no such shell, and was well beloved by all; 
but the few who were honored with the friendship of the wife 
felt, perhaps, that it was the greater privilege. 

He was hardly prepared to see her so soon bestowing that 
privilege upon Mr. Smith. He w^as astonished beyond measure 
to hear her chattering gayly asthey went along, to see her cutting 
a beautiful Cape jasmine for their guest’s button-hole, and still 
more, asking from him the name of a sweet- smelling grass which 
her husband had seen flourishing at the Hill, and spoken to her 
about afterward. 

There w^ere two plants of the grass, one on each side of the 
front door. 

Mr. Smith supplied the name, and then she wanted to know if 
it throve in the open air all the year round? It did, and if Lady 
Sauffrenden had a fancy for them, he had a number of young 
plants, and would be happy to send her a pair. 

And there was Milly actually accepting them — a compliment 
indeed! 

“ There now!” exclaimed he, as the carriage drove off, “You 
see there’s nothing vulgar about him.” 


MR. 19 

“Vulgar!” repeated Lady Sauffrenden with animation. “ He is 
one of the best-bred men I ever met in my life,” 

The day had grown rather chilly, and the carriage-rug felt 
warm and comfortable as Mr. Smith bowled along in his car- 
riage. 

He too had been agreeably surprised with his visit. The Lor- 
rimers, in speaking of Lady Sauffrenden, had called her stiff, 
and hinted that she needed to be known to be liked. They 
themselves thought none the less of her for this grnceful buck- 
ram, which they were disposetl to consider not an uncalled-for 
balance to her husband’s pliability. 

But they did not desire that it should be shown to their friend, 
and thinking it not unlikely that such would be the case, they 
had endeavored to prepare him. Lady Sauffrenden was stiff, 
but it was merely in her manner, and would wear off on ac- 
quaintance. 

Lady Sauffrenden, however, had been the very reverse of 
stiff; she had been easy, gracious and charming. He looked 
forward to her nearer acquaintance without feeling that there 
was anything about her which required wearing off. 

Mr. Smith had decided this point long before he reached the 
lodge gates, and as they clanged behind him, his thoughts took 
a different channel. For on the road in front he espied four- 
young ladies walking. They were the Miss Tolletons, as by this 
time he knew, and an idea entered his mind. 

The dusk was creeping on apace, and they were still two miles 
and rather more from their own gate. He would have his walk 
now, and send them on in his carriage. At tliat hour, at this 
season of the year, it was too late for girls to be walking alone 
80 far from their own grounds. In making th.e offer he felt no 
scruples — might they not have been his daughters? 

Accordingly the carriage drew up beside the walking party; 
and its occupant alighting, was warmly greeted by three of the 
girls, and introduced to the fourth, Maria Hunt. 

The three dark beauties had the glow of liealth aiid exercise 
in their cheeks, and ready smiles on their lips for the proprietor 
of the Hill. 

If he had guessed that these were the near neighbors at whose 
names Lady Sauffrenden shuddered! 

“I am going to walk home,” said he. “ Can I induce anybody 
to make use of the empty carriage? There are seats for all, 
you see.” . 

A simultaneous chorus of “ Oh, thank you, ’ and looks of inde- 
cision, responded. 

Then Maria Hunt spoke. “Helen, you said you were tmed 
when the carriage came in sight. As Mr. Smith is so kind, 
should you ” , ^ 

Helen did not look particularly grateful, and replied rather 
quickly— “Maria! I was only joking! Never imagining for a 
moment that it was your carriage, Mr. Smith, I said I wished 
somebody would offer me a seat in it. Really it was no more 
than a jest. I can walk very well indeed . The others, perhaps, 
may be glad to accept your kind offer, but I shall walk.” 


20 


MR, SMITH, 


“ But why should you walk, my dear young lady ? You would 
not like to be separated from them.” 

“I could not think of turning you out like that.” 

“ It is not turning me out, T assure you. A walk will do me 
all the good in the world, for I have had no proper one to-day. 
Let me put you in,” he urged. 

“No, indeed.” Helen was resolute. 

“ Or perhaps Mr. Smith will join us in our walk,” suggested 
Carry. 

“And then Helen could drive,” put in Maria Hunt again. 

Helen again did not look grateful, but the next moment her 
brow cleared, and she answered gently — “ I will drive since Mr. 
Smith is so very kind, but only on one condition, that he does the 
same. Ah,” she continued, turning to him with an arch smile, 
“ you cannot say now you would pre/er to walk, after a request 
like this.” 

No, of course he could not say so, but it was rather embarass- 
ing, and he did not know exactly what to say instead. He 
looked at Helen, looked at the others, and wondered what was 
expected from him. 

“ Perhaps Mr. Smith really does prefer it,” said Carry. 

“ He dares not say so, if he does,” said Helen, turning her 
eyes upon him full of laughter and defiance. “Yes, Mr. Smith, 
I am tired, very tired, and have had quite enough of walking 
for to-day; but I will not get into your carriage on any other 
condition. Say, will you come, or not ?” 

He looked at her, smiled, bowed his acquiescence, and she 
sprung into the carriage. 

“Would not another sister ” but the other sisters had 

walked on. 

“ I think,” said Helen, brightly, “ that they really do prefer 
it.” 

She had gained her point. She meant to have Mr, Smith's 
company, and she meant to have it alone. The means by which 
this end was attained she did not regard. It would be odd 
indeed if she could not do as she chose with a fusty old bache- 
lor, and make him think it all right. Now, she had settled, he 
might as well begin to fall in love with her. 

Her eyes sparkling with fun and triumph, she saw him take 
his seat opposite, and away they rolled, poor Maria looking 
rather wistfully after them as they passed. 

“ Just fancy!” was Miss Tolleton’s greeting when her sisters 
arrived home, and ere they could rally her on her successful 
management. “ He had been at the Castle.” 

“ At the Castle!” 

“ And he must have been there more than an hour, for I saw 
the carriage go by quite early.” 

“At the Castle!” 

“Yes, indeed. I thought you would be surprised. Lord 
Sauffrenden had called on him last week, and he was returning 
the visit to-day.” 

“ Did he tell you ?” 

“ Not until I made him, land I had to be careful how I did it too, 


Mil SMITH. 


21 


They niust have been as good to him as possible, for they had 
taken him all over the grounds and gardens, and he seemed quite 
charmed.’’ 

“ How very odd, isn’t it?” said Lily, doubtfully. “ After the 
way they behaved to us. What could have made them treat us 
so ? I thought they would do the same to every one. ” 

“ Fortunately he never asked if we knew them,” continued 
Helen; “ I dare say he took it for granted. It is really very 
awkward sometimes, and very tiresome. I shouldn’t care 
half so much about it, if it weren’t for what people must 
think.” 

“Nevermind — let them think what they please,” said Lily, 
rallying. “ They’ll tliink a certain lady has a little touch of the 
‘green-eyed monster’ about her, perhaps. Now about Mr, 
Smith, the point is, what he thinks ?” 

Helen laughed. 

“ How can I tell what he thinks?” 

“You can tell well enough, Nelly, when you like. Come, 
now — did you make the desired impression ?” 

“I am not vain enough to be certain of it.” 

“I know you are, though. You think you did wonders, 
or you wouldn’t be in such good-humor. Well, we shall see. 
There’s plenty of time to work him up, as artists say. It all 
fitted in so well — even poor Maria’s blundering speeches turned 
to good account. But I was afraid she was going to get in 
herself.” 

“Clare would, I believe, but Maria can always be managed. 
You have no idea what a nice carriage it is, Lily, so delightfully 
hung, we seemed to be going over velvet all the time.” 

“ I should not have disliked the drive at all,” said Lily. “ My 
boots were too tight, and I was far more tired with the walk 
than you. It was rather hard on me to have to like walking 
best.” 

All this time Carry looked sulky. It was all very well for 
Helen to appropriate the most sparkling young officers, ami the 
most devout and dreamy curates; but of a commonplace old 
fogy like Mr, Smith, she did think she ought to have had a fair 
chance. Old fogies might just as well take to her as Helen. She 
w’as not tired like Lily, and did not on that account care to have 
a seat in the barouche; but she would have liked a chance of 
making that barouche her own. 

Her next speech betrayed a little of this feeling. 

“ I’m afraid Mr. Smith must have seen that you wanted to 
go alone with him.” • 

“ So I did, and he was very welcome to see it.” 

“ He wouldn’t think it nice of you.” 

“ Would he not? He ought, for it was A’ery nice of me; most 
particularly nice, and kind, and complimentary. It would be 
very ungrateful in him to think anything .else.” 

Helen was not to be put out of humor. 

“ Did you meet anybody ?” 

“ Not a single creature. I was in hopes of meeting Mrs. Hunt. 

I would have given anything to have seen her face,” 


2 % 


MB, S2IITH. 


“ She’ll think we’re past hope now,” said Lily. 

“ But seriously, however,” said Helen, “ we must take a little 
care with her. If she asks either of you about it, this was the 
way — I really was rather overdone, and would have been thank- 
ful to any one who offered to take me home. Maria won’t be 
too corarnunicative, will she?” 

“ I can hardly answer for her. You see it was rather unfort- 
unate. But I impressed it on her how tired you really were, 
and how well she had done in persisting that you should drive. 
That was the j)oint I pressed home most, and she was quite 
pleased, and proud of herself at last. The only thing I am 
afraid of is, that she did not quite see why no one else could 
have gone too. I think she w’ould have liked to get in, dearly.” 

“ And what had you to say to that ?” 

“Only that Mr. Smith had never suggested it. That he had 
offered us the empty carriage, but that when we insisted he 
should not turn out himself, he had not pressed more than one 
to accompany him.” 

“ He did, however, just as you walked off.” 

“Ah, but Maria never heard that. She thinks he did not 
want us. What fun it will be if she goes and tells her mother 
that!” 

Helen laughed again, her excited, successful laugh. The 
color was in her pale cheeks now. “It really was great fun. 
Poor Maria! She looked so bewildered. And now, isn’t it a 
pity that poor grandmamma should have died just at this time? 
We must have Mr. Smith here somehow; who knows what may 
come of it?” 

“ I don’t believe anything will come of it,” said Carry. 

“ Don’t be cross. Carry; if I don’t want him, you shall have 
the next chance. You would make a famous Mrs. Smith.” 

“Not much of a compliment in the abstract, whatever it may 
be in this particular instance,” said Lily. “ But I want to be 
Mrs. Smith too.” 

“ No, you don’t, Lily; you have plenty of time to wait. Carry 
shall have him before you, if she doesn’t make herself disagree- 
able.” 

“ I think he would suit Carry a great deal better than you.” 

“ Perhaps he might, but I can’t let her have him yet; I must 
be allowed to try my powers. He is a new sort of subject, and 
I am tired of boys,” says Miss Helen, saucily. 

“ Boys, yes; but there are degrees, gradations.” 

“ All very well in their way, Lily, but the fact is, I have taken 
this into my head to do, and I mean to do it.” 

“ You have been so idle lately, I believe this is the mischief 
found for your ‘ idle hands to do.’ Go on, my friend — go on and 
prosper. All I want to know is, when you have obtained your 
victory, what will you do with it?” 

“ When I have obtained it, I will let you know, Lily.” 

“You would accept him ?” 

“ You will see when the time comes.” 

More than this was not to be won from her. She nodded, and 
laughed, and looked brimful of audacity and mystery, but she 


Jfi?. SMITH. 


23 


would say no more. She was goiu^ to dress— it was quite time, 
the bell must have rung — and it was no use teasing her; and then 
she tossed off her hat, and putting her hand to her hot cheek, sat 
down, and forgot where she was going to. 

Carry, who glanced every now and then at her sister, could not 
help wondering what Mr. Smith had really thought of Helen. 
Of course he thought her handsome, but had he been struck by 
her? Had he merely approved, admired her, or had he been 
'penetrated ? 

Helen had never looked better in her life. For one tiling, she 
always did look remarl ably well in her hat. It was a dark 
shady felt, very high crowned, wich a sable plume falling over 
her hair at the back. It suited her; it formed just the proper 
contrast to the glowing face beneath. 

But w^ould Mr. Smith be alive to this? She doubted it. She 
doubted his susceptibility, his impressibility. Old men don’t 
care about such things. Ten to one he would not think of Helen, 
and twenty to one Helen would tire of him. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THRUST AND PARRY. 

Mr. Smith, however, had thought more tlian once about 
Helen. Carry made a mistake in what she said about old 
men. 

When papa asks some of his dear old cronies to dinner, and 
they come in high neckcloths and out-of-date Hack coats, and 
you girls fancy it does not much matter what you put on — the 
limp muslin that hangs awry, or the good gowji that never did 
fit well, but which it would be a shame to put away — don’t for a 
moment imagine that they do not see it. 

If you have an ugly and easy way of doing up your hair, keep 
it for another occasion. It will pass better with youug Foodie, 
who may take it for the new style, than with these old gentle- 
men. He will bear wdth it, perhaps even approve of it, if he has 
only never seen it before; but they will wonder what in the 
world the child has done to herself. 

No more observant spectator in the world than your silent, 
unimpressible-looking, innocent old gentleman. 

Mr. Smith, who was fifty, although Mrs. Hunt denied it, could 
hardly be called old. He had attained his fiftieth year a few 
months before he came to Eastworld, and what he was capable 
of appreciating might therefore be still an open question. 

Driving home with Helen, he had realized the fact that he was 
in company with a handsome woman. He had seen her deli- 
cate profile cut out against the dusky autumnal sky, and felt the 
fire of her laughing eyes playing upon him, with a certain sense 
of pleasure. He had noticed the contrast formed by the shady 
hat and plume, and had even gone so far as to be impressed with 
a vague admiration of the slender wrist, and long white fingers, 
which the wily maiden took off her glov’^e to display. 

The fingers were industriously engaged in twisting something 
wrong into right about the hair; and being so busy, how should 


^4 


MR. SMITH. 


it ever occur to him that there was no special need of their sel*- 
vices ? Several thick gold rings, having turquoises set in them, 
fehowed Off by their delicate blue the jmre white skin, and he 
even noticed that. He thought he would never hold turquoises 
cheap again. On the whole, he had regarded his fair companion 
with a very reasonable amount of admiration. 

Her tongue did not spoil her beauty. Wlien she spoke, her 
toice was soft and pleasant, and she knew when to be silent. 

The impression she left was favorable, and she was conscious 
Of it; 

• But Mrs. Hunt went up to call on the Tolletons next day. 

“ Mrs. Hunt, wishing to know how Miss Helen is,” an- 
nounced Corker, generally known as the butler who drank, at 
Freelands. 

He had come to the dining-room, where the sisters were sitting 
at luncheon, 

‘‘Who \t^ishes, Corker?” 

Mrs. Hunt. What am I to say, miss ?” 

“Show her into the drawing-room. What is she come for 
now ?” said Helen as the man departed. “ It is too bad to come 
at luncheon-time. Can it be anything about yesterday?” 

“ It must,” said Lily; “ Maria has done it. It is well Maria is 
not with her; I think we can manage her alone. Get a shawl, 
Nelly — you may as well be a little overdone, you know; and 
Carry, mind what you say.” 

Helen rushed up-stairs, and met them in the hall, the shawl 
over her shoulders. 

All three then went into the drawing-room, for whatever 
might be their internal differences, they were united in present- 
ing a common front in time of battle, and in Mrs. Hunt’s pres- 
ence Carry was to be relied upon. 

“I came to inquire after Helen, but the man seemed quite sur- 
prised at my doing so,” began the doctor’s wife, as soon as she 
had shaken hands. “ He made me repeat the question.” 

“Tes, I daresay, seeing her going about as usual,” said Lily, 
looking affectionately at her sister. “ You are all right to-day, 
aren’t you, Nelly ? But she was a little overdone yesterday, as 
perhaps Maria told you ?” — to Mrs. Hunt. 

Mrs. Hunt looked solemnly at Helen. “Maria told me she 
was ill.” 

“ Oh no, not ill; not ill, or I should certainly have sent for the 
doctor,” said Helen, sending her shaft with a sweet languid 
smile. “Really there was nothing to make a fuss about, thank 
you, Mrs. Hunt; only these two would have it I had been doing 
too much. I am really sorry you should have taken the trouble 
to come all this way. It was very kind.” 

Mrs. Hunt winced at the mention of the doctor. It suddenly 
occurred to her how angry her husband would have been, if he 
had known it could be supposed that she had come to see why 
he had tiot been summon^. 

“ Oh no, not the doctor. Yes, of course it’s best not to make 

a fuss. I never do. I, in fact ” In fact, she did not know 

what she was saying. She had meant to find Helen in the full 


MR. SMITH. 


25 


tide of health and spirits, and utterly discomfited by the notion 
of her reported illness— for although Maria had faithfully nar- 
rated the event in the light the sisters had shown it to her, and 
had neither exaggerated nor misinterpreted, so far as she knew, 
Mrs. Hunt had made her own tale of it. 

The fatigue was illness, that was her first improvement; and 
had she not taken the false step of making her inquiries at the 
door, instead of waiting to put them in the drawing-room, she 
might certainly have gained some advantage from it. 

But that mistake put the enemy up to her move. 

Helen came in with her shawl, looking also white and color- 
less, since the morning had been wet, and she had been kept to 
the house. It had been easy to assume a languid air, and the 
tables were turned. 

Then came the side blow at the doctor, still further to confuse 
his wife. 

“ Well, I’m glad to see you better. You look very well, at 
any rate,” said she, making an effort to recover herself. “And 
the others, too, they had a longer walk still? It was a pity no 
more of you took advantage of the carriage.” 

“ Oh, we didn’t mind about ourselves — we liked it!” cried 
Lily. “We were only so sony afterward that we had not made 
Maria get in. You see, Maria would not own that she was tired 
till it was too late, because she was so good; she did not like to 
seem forward, when Mr. Smith had not expressly asked her.” 

“I understood he did ask her.” 

“Oh no, he didn’t. Not so that any of us could accept the 
offer, at least. He offered us the whole carriage, you know, 
most kindly, and wanted to jump out and walk the rest of the 
way himself. As if we could have allowed that! If he wanted 
to walk, why was he driving ? So then, seeing Helen looked pale, 
he pressed her, and we made her go. It would have been foolish 
to’make a fuss, you know.” 

This was Lily's version of the story. 

Helen, with her cheek still resting on the long white fingers, 
in the proper attitude of one a little overdone, could not help 
glancing at her other sister. 

But Carry was faithful. She did not confirm Lily’s version; 
but neither by word nor look would she throw discredit on it. 
Helen drew a breath of relief. 

“ Well, really, you must have had a pleasant drive,” said Mrs. 
Hunt, turning again to her, with a little laugh. 

“ I was very thankful to get it,” said she mildly. 

“And Mr. Smith made himself very agreeable, no doubt.” 

“ No doubt; but really I was not able to judge. Feeling disin- 
clined to talk, his attentions rather bored me, to tell the truth.” 

“ Dear! An old man like that! One would not have imagin- 
ed his attentions could have been so very overwhelming.” 

Mrs. Hunt gave another little laugh, not nice to hear. 

“ He was so very kind.” 

“Yes, indeed; it was so very kind of him to stop at all,” 
chimed in Lily. “ I am sure he had not even been coming our 
way, if he had not seen us. He said as much. He came on pur- 


26 


MR. SMITH. 


pose to offer us the carriage. We had no idea he was anywhere 
about, for we hai seen him go by that way hours before.” 

“ And had you seen him come back ?” significantly. 

“ Oh, dear, no, Mrs. Hunt; we had never looked. We had for- 
gotten all about him.” 

Lily, you see, did not mind making gratuitous statements. 
That they were false Mrs. Hunt knew, and longed to tell her so, 
boldly; but slie could only, restrained by the decencies of polite 
intercourse, express her disbelief in looks, and this naturally 
fretted her the more. 

Maria told me ” — always poor Maria, the scape-goat — “ that 
you had several disappointments from other carriages that 
seemed like his in the distance.” 

“Yes, Maria was disappointed. She thought it was never 
coming, and we told her probably it had passed long before. 
But she would not believe us. I can’t think what she wants to 
see, I am sure, in the outside of the barouche.” 

“ At any rate, that was all she did see of it.” 

For her life Mrs. Hunt could not repress so much, though even 
as the words escaped her lips, she knew they were unwise. 

She was fast losing ground. She was saying things she never 
meant to say. They seemed to be wrung out of her without her 
consent and against her will. She gave Lily a step at every turn, 
and Lily was not slow to take it. 

“I am so sorry, Mrs. Hunt; you seem to think we ought to 
have made Maria get in. I am sure I wish we had, it would 
liave been so much pleasanter for Helen too. How could we be 
so stupid? lam sure I would gladly have gone myself,” con- 
tinued she, getting into the regions of truth at last; “ for my 
boots were too tight, and I was tired besides; but really I did not 
see how to do it without appearing to intrude.” 

On the whole, Mrs. Hunt gained nothing by her visit. She 
and Lily had had a passage of arms, and Lily had come off the 
victor. 

The facts remained the same, and she had acquired additional 
certainty that the Tolletons were acting up to her prediction. 

On this point she pronounced emphatically, as soon as she re- 
turned home. 

Maria and Clare peevishly demurred. Whatever the Tolle- 
tons did, mamma was down upon them . The Tolletons never 
spoke against her, as she did against them. Why could she not 
let them alone ? Mamma went and cross-questioned them, Maria 
and Clare, and then made up all sorts of things they bad never 
said, and it was very hard, and the Tolletons would think it very 
unkind of them. 

Mamma always fancied the Tolletons meant all sorts of things 
they bad never even thought of; and Clare even went so far as 
to revolt, and declare she would never tell her mother anything 
again, if she went making mischief in that way. 

Clare, however, had threatened this before now. She and 
Maria had long since learnt that it was their best policy to keep 
quiet about a number of things the Tolletons did. 

They never saw the sinister meanings so plain to their mother’s 


MR. SMITH. 


21 


eyes. They never spied out nasty motives and sneers, and 
things behind the scenes, as she did. In short, Mrs. Hunt told 
them bluntly that they could no more put two and two together 
than if they were blind bats and deaf adders. 

They, in their turn, thought her bitterly unjust. They would 
fain have shielded their friends from her undeserved vitupera- 
tions. They would have hidden them from her arrows. 

This, however, was a vain hope. Do what they would, they 
could not keep the Tolletons out of their mouths. If they had 
an opinion to offer, it had been gained at Freelands. If there 
was a book to be read, a picture to be seen, a concert, a lecture, 
anything they wished to go to, she knew who had told them of it. 
It followed that she then scoffed at the Tolletons, and then went 
to the lecture. The lecture, or whatever it was, was all very 
well, but those girls must be gadding about forever. It wasn’t 
one thing or another, but they were always finding out this and 
that, instead of staying at home and minding their own busi- 
ness. 

Up to the present time this general strain of condemnation had 
been all wherewith she blighted the Tolletons. She had had no 
specific complaint to make of them. Whatever they did she dis- 
approved, of course; but far from carrying her disapprobation 
any further, she was perhaps the only mother in the neighbor- 
hood who permitted her daughters unrestrained intercourse 
with the free and fast Miss Tolletons. 

A new’ era, however, had now set in. She had grounds on which 
to base her disapproval. The Tolletons meant to have Mr. 
Smith for Helen, ami she meant to have him for Maria. I'his 
was, as it appeared to her, the unvarnished statement of a 
truth. She could not say so, of course, aloud — the latter part 
of the statement, at least; but it sank into her mind, and 
whenever she now spoke of the Tolletons, it was rarely w ithout 
connecting their names with that of the new landlord at the 
Hill. 

“Vulgar woman!” exclaimed Helen, passionately, as soon as 
their visitor had departed. “ She got quite insolent at last. 
We shall have to put a stop to this. I wonder you had the 
patience to answer her, Lily; I am sure I could not.” 

“ I think I answered her pretty well,” said Lily, wdth modest 
confidence. 

“ Indeed you did. But it was as well, perhaps, that she had 
left Maria behind.” 

“ I wouldn’t be poor Maria when her mother goes home. 
She won’t know what to make of it at all. But she really did 
want to see the barouche, and she will stand to that, I know.” 

“ She would stand to anything she thought we wanted,” said 
Helen, “ so long as we could persuade her it was the truth. The 
worst of Maria is, you have to be so dreadfully particular with 
her. I am sure, to make her believe one story, I often have to 
tell such a number, that she ought to be held responsible for 
them all. But she is a good creature, and would do anything 
for us, if it is only pointed out to her, so that she can’t mistake 
the way. After all, Lily, I am almost sorry we did not let her 


28 


MR. SMITH. 


come with me yesterday. It would have saved appearances; and 
she is such a nonentity^ you know, she would have been no more 
than a block of wood sitting by. The poor thing would have en- 
joyed it so much, I really wish we had let her.” 

*“ T had reasons for being determined,” said Lily. “ I wasn’t 
only helping your little flirtation, Miss Helen. You won’t tell 
me what you are up to, but I suspect there may be a serious end 
to this, and I approve,” nodding significantly; “ so now I mean 
to give my poor assist ance, and you will see I am no mean ally 
either.” 

“But what were your most sapient reasons for excluding 
Maria ?” said Helen, laughing. 

“I’ll tell you. It was not so much for her interference as 
this. You see the Hunts don’t know Mr. Smith yet. Now, if 
he had driven Maria home, of course Dr. Hunt must have called 
at once. The only reason he has not done it yet is because 
he thinks it best to hang back at first, being the doctor. He 
hates to be thought professional, you know. But all the time 
he is dying for some excuse to take him to the Hill. I know, 
by the way he questioned us yesterday, and tried to find out 
who had been and who had not.” 

“ How could he expect you to know ?” 

“ I suppose he thought I could watch who went by; as if I 
cared to do that. Mrs. Hunt would, I dare say; she is always 
at that bow-window of hers.” 

“ But we can’t see the road.” 

“Yes, we can, from our window, and he knows that well 
enough; for he stood looking out that day I was ill, and remark- 
ed a&)ut the Fultons’ wagonette, don’t you remember ? That’s 
not what I want to say, however. The thing is, to keep iiim as 
long as possible from knowing Mr. Smith.” 

“And I can’t imagine whj\ Do you think I’m afraid of the 
fair Maria’s charms? What can it matter whether he knows 
him or not ?” 

“ It matters because Dr. Hunt never did like papa. You know 
how papa can’t bear him; and he always takes tliese dislikes to 
people who are bad to him. He must have heard something of 
the sort, for he was quite ready to be friends at one time. So, 
if Dr. Hunt goes to Mr. Smith and laughs at papa, it would be a 
great pity, supposing, you know ” nodding again with em- 

phasis. “ Now, can’t you see why it is best these two should be 
kept apart a little longer, if possible ?” 

In two things Lily was right. She was right in saying that 
Dr. Hunt did not like her father, and also that he was very 
desirous of becoming acquainted with Mr. Smith. He had 
ascertained that others, besides Mr. Tolleton, had called at the 
Hill. 

Mr. Rodney, the curate, had returned from Wales, and had 
called immediately on his arrival. The Deanes had called. Cajj- 
tain Wellwood had called. More than all these, Lord SauftTenden 
had called. He felt that the time had come when Dr. Hunt 
might call. 

The only drawback to his doing so now was his wife. She 


MR. SMITH. 


29 


*'?Ter knew when to let well alone; and having seized on 
the definite project of her husband’s going to the Hill so 
c hafed and worried him by her perpetual harping on the subject, 
that he had done as she desired, a whole day, before he would 
give her the satisfaction of knowing it. Mrs. Hunt said it was 
too bad of him, but she said it with a sparkling eye. Now, in- 
deed, she felt that she had entered the lists. 

Helen Tolleton was a formidable foe, and her heart had sunk 
within her bosom when she left Freelands after the passage of 
arms before narrated. But she thought, nay, she felt sure, that 
during the succeeding week, at the end of which the doctor had 
left his card, nothing more had passed between Mr. Smith and 
their neighbors at Freelands. 

The Tolleton shad not asked Mr. Smith to dinner, or if they 
had, he had not gone. For once in her life she inclined to the 
more charitable view, and believed they had not asked him. But 
it was hardly from charity, so much as from instinct, that she 
believed it. She felt uncomfortably certain that if he had been 
asked he would have gone. And she was right. He would have 
gone, with a great deal of pleasure. 

But the Tolletons had not asked him, although it w^as now 
nearly three weeks since their grandmother’s death. They had 
consulted with each other, and felt that it was better not. 

Not having been at home when Mr. Tolleton called, Mr. 
Smith, it is true, knew nothing of the recent loss in their family: 
but it had so happened that during his drive with Helen, he had 
made some remark which made her feel sure he would fee par- 
ticular on a point like this. She had herself led to these remarks. 
She wished to find out what he thought. 

All through the drive, even when she was most engaged in 
rendering herself engaging, she was carefully studying her com- 
panion. Would he only do for a passing hour, or was it worth 
while to think of the future? She was twenty-one, and tired of 
being Miss Tolleton. This man might suit her, and if so, eveiy- 
thing else was all that she desired. 

Now, how about her suiting him ? For a short tete-a‘fete her 
first appearance was sufficient. She was not vain of her looks — 
not one half as vain as many a one without a tithe of her beauty; 
but she had learnt, as she could hardly help learning, its value. 

That Mr. Smith should be struck at first sight — that he should 
be more than sti’uck, stricken, in a sober, middle-aged, helpless 
sort of way — was what she expected; but she must look to her 
weapons if she meant to subdue him further. After her second 
intervie w, she knew that she had so far succeeded. 

As they rolled along, sitting opposite to each other, she swiftly 
felt convinced of this. She knew that he was looking at her. 
She knew that when he turned his face to notice the somber sky 
with its thin struggling sunset, he was furtively watching her 
face instead. 

He was not young nor handsome, but he knew how to talk, 
and lie knew how to look. He was not insensible, nay, he was 
creeping \^'ithin her influence. 

All this was delightful. She enjoyed it as a new sensation. 


ME, SMITH. 


eo 

She must have him. All that remained to be determined 
whether he should have her. 

This was the under-current which gave a reality, a depth, to 
the drama. This was the doubt, the wonder, the exciting, allur- 
ing theme which absorbed lier thoughts. She had not made up 
her mind, nor did she mean to make it up hurriedly, but she 
would wait and see. 

Ten thousand a-year! That meant a great deal. London 
seasons. Continental tours, presentations, honors, and pleasures. 
That was what ten thousand a-year would give her, and she 
knew of nothing better that life could yield. 

Then, on the other hand a little plain elderly man, not insig- 
nificant, and by no means disagreeable. She thought it might 
do — if it came to anything. This was her feeling — a feeling be- 
tween jest and earnest, wdiich caused her to look back upon that 
dusky drive in the November twilight as to one of the most 
curiously pleasant things in her life. 


CHAPTER V. 
can’t you say the t’s? 

When Dr. Hunt had left his card at the house on the Hill, he 
had relieved his mind of a great weight. 

Now he could talk to Mr. Smith when they met one another. 
Now he could overtake him coming out of church, and jump 
into the same railway-carriage. Now he could look forward 
with a very sure and happy confidence to many a snug bachelor 
dinner in that snug bachelor dining-room, for which, even with 
its extra surreptitious glass of port afterward, he would have no 
opposition to face from his wife. She would be ready to for- 
ward all friendly intercourse of this kind, and he, in return, 
would make her welcome to get Mr. Smith for a son-in-law, if 
she could. 

He saw nothing degrading to her, his daughters, or himself, 
in such a proceeding. As long as his one foible was regarded, 
he was careless of the rest. As long as he was met on equal 
grounds, and was not called “doctor,” he w^as satisfied. 

It was an old offense of Lord Sauffrenden’s, this calling him 
“doctor;” but he could pardon in Lord Sauffrenden wdiat he 
could not in any other man. No one else did so. Whether Dr. 
Hunt merely told anecdotes in which his friends called him 
“ Hunt,” or whether he more distinctly conveyed it to the minds 
of his auditors that he so liked to be called, matters not; his end 
was attained. 

Mr. Smith, wdio could not call him Hunt at this early period 
in their acquaintance, at least did not call him “ doctor;” and 
when, in the course of conversation, he alluded to his companion 
as a neighbor. Dr. Hunt’s ambition was fully satisfied. To be 
regarded as a neighbor was the desire of his life. To be neigli- 
borly included his entire creed. “And I hope you like the 
neighborhood?” was invariably his third question. 

To this Mr. Smith had replied that, so far, he liked the neigh- 
li^rhood verj^ much indeed, 


MR. SMITH. 


81 


Less, indeed, it would have been difficult to say with polite- 
ness, but his manner expressed sincerity. The neighborhood, so 
far as he knew it, ^v^as peopled by Lord and Lady Saulfrenden, 
and the three Miss Tolletons, and he liked them all. He would 
have said, at all events, unhesitatingly, that he liked them all; 
but the truth was that he had barely exchanged half a dozen 
words with anj-^ but Helen. He had called at Freelands, of 
course, and they had sat demurely by while she talked, and had 
risen, and given him their hands politely afterward. That was 
all he knew of them. 

Mr. Rodney he had only seen in church, the Deanes he had 
missed likewise, and Captain Wellwood was still away among 
the woodcocks. 

One afternoon, however, shortly after this, he met Philip him- 
self, just arrived by the train. Having been a little surprised at 
being obliged to call on Mr. Smith, and having since forgotten 
all about him. Captain Wellwood was naturally again a little 
surprised at being greeted by a stranger in his native place. Ho 
remembered, however, almost instantly, who he was. They met 
in a lonely part of the road. The other passengers were far ad- 
vanced in front, and there was a momentary awkwardness. 
Then Mr. Smith raised his hat and stopped. 

“ I was sorry to be out when you kindly called on me. Captain 
Wellwood” (he had not forgotten that Captain Wellwood was 
the first of his new neighbors who had done so), “ and to find you 
were from home afterward. You have your gun-case — good 
sport, I hope?” 

“ Well, uq; very bad. No frost, and no hope of it.” 

Captain Wellwood was not in the best of humors. 

“ Ah, indeed; very warm here, too. Quite unseasonable.” 

“The hounds been doing well?” 

“ There was a fine run several days ago, but they didn’t kill. 
I had the whole hunt up about my house for upward of an hour, 
and then they went round by the river, and across the country 
beyond.” 

“ Where did they lose him ?” 

“ Beyond Mentonharst, but I am not certain where.” 

“ You were not with them ?” 

“ I’m sorry to say I don’t hunt. T had not the chance when 1 
was young, and I hardly fancy beginning now.” 

“ Oh, better late than never. Lots of fellows don’t take to it 
just at fii-st. Lord Sauffrenden’s home again ?” 

“ Yes. Don’t let me keep you standing here in the cold wind. 
You have not been walking as I have. Good- morning. I hope 
we may have many other ” 

“ Good-morning. Oh yes, certainly.” 

What in the world had made the Sauffrendens ask him to call ? 
Not Sauffrendeu, of course; he did not wonder at him. Ho 
would make friends with every odd-come-short within a hun- 
dred miles if he could, but his his wife was different. He had a 
great opinion of Lady Sauffrenden, partly owing, perhaps, to the 
fact that she, like himself, was apt to pick and choose her 
acquaintances. Sauffrenden would have walked arm in arm 


82 


MR. SMITH. 


with a street scavenger if he happened to take his fancy, and 
readily rubbed shoulders with far more trying people — those half- 
and-halfs whom it is regarded by many as particularly necessary 
to keep at a distance, if they themselves are to remain the im- 
maculate things Nature has made them. Such an idea would 
have been scouted by Sauffrenden. What! a guinea become 
silver by rubbing against a shilling! Only silver-gilt rubs off. 

Captain Well wood could not be compared to silver-gilt. He 
was gold — true gold — but not the 22-carat gold of his friend. 
There was some alloy in him. He said to himself that it was all 
very well for Bob Sauffrenden, who was now a peer and a great 
man, to do as he chose in such matters, but for him it was dif- 
ferent. He had no handle to his name to show who he was, and 
consequently every low fellow without eyes to see the difference, 
unless pointed out by Burke, thought he had a right to hang on 
to him in a way that could not be done to “ a lord.” Sauffren- 
den was a nuisance in that way, and, but for his wife, would 
have been twice as bad. Philip had often cause to bless her, and 
there was only one point on which they were at issue. 

She would not know the Tolletons, and he would not give up 
knowing them. 

Until lately the Tolletons had known everybody, and Captain 
Wellwood among the rest. Like other people, he talked of the 
girls as handsome and good fun, and like other people he stopped 
there. 

Marry them ? He thought not. 

He liked to go to the house. Everything there was pleasant. 
Old Tolleton gave a capital dinner, and there was a nice cover 
for pheasants, which some were ill-natured enough to say he 
kept on purpose for his daughters’ lovers. 

The young man had never declared himself a lover, and 
showed no intentions of doing anything of the kind; indeed it 
was alleged that had these been demanded of him, he would 
have declared they were not forthcoming; but still he was made 
welcome to the plieasant-shooting. He had not fulfilled Helen’s 
hopes, but lie remained perfectly good friends with her in her 
despair. Before the Sauffrendens, as the Sauffrendens, existed, 

1 he had gone to Freelands openly and often. Half admiring, half 
scoffing, it is true, but without a thought of hinderance. 

I The girls were very young — they were hardly grown up; there 
was but a year between each ; and had they been like most others, 
it is probable the youngest would have been still in the school- 
room. But who was to keep her there ? Not Helen; she found 
Carry dull company, and emancipated Lily the moment she 
desired it. Not their father; he got rid of the expense, and took 
their word for it their education was complete. Mother they had 
none. She had died when they were little more than infants. 
The only guidan je they received of any sort came from their 
father’s sister, who, worldly, ambitious, proud of her nieces’ 
looks, and impatient for the success which should attend her 
chaperonage of them, hurried on their accomplishments, filled 
their minds with ideas of future triumphs, impressed on them 
rules and maxims such as might have originated from the lipsof 


Mn. SMITH. 


33 


Lor,^ Chesterfield, and then died at the very commencement 
of the season which should have seen Helen" launched on her 
career. 

The prospect was all changed. Now there was no opening 
left. Every year, it is true, they went to London, but each time 
the expedition was felt to be a failure. They preferred to run 
riot at home. 

They chattered and flirted, and men encouraged and admired. 
They grew reckless, and came to be talked about. That was 
their history. 

Nobody spoke to them, nobody reasoned with them, or coun- 
seled them, or tried to lead them into better ways: they only 
either whispered about them, or laughed at them. 

They were bold, forward girls, and should never be intimate 
at their house. They would come to no good. They would 
marry scapegraces. 

But still people went to Freelands, and were glad of the Miss 
Tolletons to grace their balls. It was not till Lady Sauffrenden 
came, that the false smile changed into a frown. She refused 
their acquaintance, and immediately everybody who had it, 
felt ashamed. Some boldly threw them over at once; others 
gradually cooled. But the most continued to keep on a sort of 
contraband trade with the house, avoiding all public recogni- 
tions, and invariably looking round before they entered the 
avenue gates. If their names w^ere mentioned, even tlioiigli 
I^dy Sauffrenden were not present, a guilty look invariably 
appeared on the faces of the company. If she were, they ap- 
peared suddenly stricken deaf and dumb. 

Lord Sauffrenden confided the case to Captain Well wood. “ She 
says the girls are forward, and that sort of thing. Between 
ourselves, she was disgusted with Lily’s behavior at the ball 
we had when the maneuvers were going on. They are bad 
style, you know, and anyway she won’t have them at Sauf- 
frenden.” 

After that Philip had never enjoyed the pheasant-shooting 
without a sense of guilt. He did not mean to give it up, and 
felt utter contempt for such as had renounced their friends at 
the will of another; but he had a little, a very little, of the con- 
traband sensation. 

He \vent as often as before to Freelands, but hid the fact at 
Sauffrenden. It is hard if a man may not have his pheasant- 
shooting because the girls are bad style. He did not liirt. He 
had given them early notice that none of the three need expect 
to be asked to become Mrs. Philip Well wood; and the result 
was, that he was accustomed to have his day's sport, his good 
dinner, and musical evening, all very pleasantly — the parties un- 
derstanding each other, and taking the agreement in good part. 
Helen, when Captain Wellwood became her despair, or in other 
words her platonic, cool admirer, found he was still worth a 
bouquet for his button-hole, and a flower in her own hair. The 
other two, finding him not so engrossed with the beauty as might 
have teen expected, were pleased to share his general attentions. 
Mr. Tolleton, who would not have dared to say “No,” if his im- 


34 


MB. SMITH. 


perious young friend had demanded the i)and of a daughter in 
marriage, being entirely submissive to these daughters’ sway, 
was nevertheless well pleased that there as no such poor pros- 
pect, either for his darling Helen, or for her sisters. He had no 
inclination to dispose of the comfortable eight or ten thousand 
he eould leave to each of them, where there w ere only as many 
hundreds a- year to m(;etthem half-way. 

Any idea of demanding Captain Wellwood’s intentions never 
entered his bead. 

Accordingly, the more certainly indifferent Philip became, the 
better he seemed to get on with each and all at Freelands, and 
the more he enjoyed going there. He was good friends, and 
nothing further. 

All this was very pleasant, but it gave umbrage to Lord 
Sauffreiiden. 

Lord Sauffrenden, in his sociable, whimsical, kindly-aflec- 
tioned, perfectly proper and respectable way, yearned after the 
Tolletons. He could not bear to hear of other peojDle going 
Avhere he did not go. He hankered after their parties, carefully 
w^atched their movements, learnt what they did, and where they 
w^eut. He had never spoken to one of the three in his life, but 
he knew w’^hich was which perfectly well, and, better than 
any one else did, w^hat each one was. He knew that Carry 
was stupid, and that Lily was clever; that Lily drew like an 
artist, and that Helen sang only rather well. 

He knew that Lily was the one w^ho chiefly brought the 
family into disrepute, and that Helen could behave herself as 
well as anybody wdien she chose. 

How he knew what he knew' it would have been difficult to 
guess. All he needed to know w’as — themselves; and that 
knowledge w^as unattainable. 

It was Lady Sauffrenden, as we have said, who made it so; 
and it was the only point on which she and Philip differed. He 
wondered if Mr. Smith w'ere to be another. He saw* nothing in 
Mr. Smith but a little stout mau turning gray, whose having ten 
thousand a year was rather an offense to him. If he were to bo 
set up as anything else, it would be simply ridiculous. 

“ Nice fellow that Smith, isn’t he?"’ began Lord Sauffrenden. 
soon after his friend appeared at the Castle. “ Milly told me 
you called— thanks. I think w'e shall find him an acquisition.” 

“ I called, as Lady Sauffrenden asked me,” wdth a touch of 
significance. 

“ Yes, w'ell, I asked her. The fact is, the Lorrimers spoke to 
me to get him well introduced.” 

“ Is he a friend of the Lorrimers?” 

“ Oh, by George! yes. The greatest friend they have. Stayed 
w’ith them, traveled wdth them, lived wdth them, in fact, for 
years. They think there’s nobody like him.” 

This, of course, had all to be sifted; but even after that process, 
there remained a good deal of extraordinary matter. 

“ Milly was delighted with him, too,” Lord Sauffrenden ran on. 
“ Were you not, Milly ? What was that you said about him ? She 
hit him off exactly, Philip, but I forget what it was.” 


MR. RMITH. 


35 


‘'So do I," said Milly, smiling. “It is too much to expect 
me both to say wonderful things, and to remember them after- 
ward.” 

“ Well, I don't know. At any rate you liked him.” 

“ I did like him, very much.” 

“ The Lorrimers have put her up to it,” reflected Philip. 

“Seen the house, Phil?” 

“ When I went to call.” 

Splendid rooms, I'm told.” 

“ There ought to be. It’s a large building. What will he do 
with it.” 

“Do! Marry and settle. That’s what he ought to do, at all 
events. I have been racking my brains to find a wife for him.” 

“ My dear Sauff renden !” exclaimed his wife, laughing. “ Was 
that why you were going over all the daughters of the land the 
other day ? I had no idea you had this in your head. Why, he 
is quite an elderly man.” 

“All the more reason why he should look sharp. Elderly? 
He’s nothing of the sort. Nobody is elderly till he’s sixty or 
seventy nowadays. Of course that was what I was thinking of, 
and if he does not help himself soon, I shall make bold to help 
him.” 

“ He is not thinking of helping himself, I should say.” 

“ That shows how little you know about it, Milly. You don’t 
keep your ears open as I do. I say, if he does not find a wife 
quickly, you and I must find one for him.” 

“ And where am I to find one ?*’ 

“Ah, that’s your business. He would be a good match for 
anybody. But wait a little; perhaps he 'will do without our 
assistance. Come along and take a turn, Philip.” 

So saying, and nodding sagaciously. Lord Sauffrenden closed 
the door. 

“ I’ll tell you more about that, now we are by ourselves,” said 
he, when they had taken down caps and sticks. “I have my 
own reasons for what I said just now. Wait a minute. Don't 
go that way; I want you to come and see the new dog. He's 
here, and I think promises well.” 

“ Where have you kenneled him ?” 

“Next door to Gyp. Look now, what do you think of his 
head? Fust-rate, isn’t it ? Well marked, too. I think he'll do, 
eh?” 

“ If he does as well as he looks, I should say he wouM. It's 
the same you bespoke in September, isn’t it ?'’ 

“Yes, from Bushe. But he only came on Thursday. Well 
done, old boy, well done! Knows me, you see. Yes, I think 
he’ll do, on the whole. Then here are the pups.” 

The pups were duly seen and handled, and no more was said 
about Mr. Smith. 

They were at some distance from the house, and Philip, to 
whom the subject was indifferent, had forgotten it altogether, 
when his companion suddenly began — “ But I was to tell you 
about Mr. Smith. Oh, and first, have you seen the Tolletons 
since you came back ?” 


36 


MR. SMITH. 


Yes, he had. The truth was, that he had met ]\Ir. Tolleton 
the day before, who, as a matter of course, invited him in to 
dinner." With the choice between good cheer and good company, 
and poor fare with none to share it, the temptation had been ir- 
resistible. He had gone to Freelands, not intending to mention 
it at Sauffrenden. 

Gone, however, he had, and Lord Sauffrenden’s face fell. 

Why could he not go ? Why should his friend go where he 
did not? Why should the Tolletons be considered a sort of for- 
bidden fruit, of which Philip might eat and not be harmed, 
whereas it would be unwholesome for him ? 

He felt like every one else from Eve downward, that there was 
something inexpressibly alluring in the forbidden ness, and it did 
seem hard that others should partake of what he was debarred 
from, even if it had to be done under the rose. 

This complaint, however, could not be uttered aloud. 

Philip made his confession vith the ^ilty air which inevi- 
tably accompanied it, and Sauffrenden did his best to receive it 
with a look of absolution. 

“ Ah, indeed! You have seen them ? Then perhaps you know 
all about it already? Perhaps you can guess how they have 
been amusing themselves since you went away?” 

No, indeed; they did not tell me. Anything in particular?” 

“ Why, yes. It’s too good a joke not to be something in par- 
ticular. " They have been setting their caps at Smith! That was 
what I meant in the drawing-room!” 

“ Nonsense!” 

“ It’s a fact. I can tell you all about it, But don’t make men- 
tion up there, you know,” pointing to the house. “There's no 
need for her to know anything aboiit it. She likes Smith, and 
it might put her against him. I don’t want that done.” 

Philip was laughing loudly. 

“ But listen — you haven’t heard the half,” proceeded the nar- 
rator, with the keenest relish. “ I can tell you all that took 
]>lace. He was up here one day, and drove. Well, he was on 
bis way home, when he overtook the three walking, and the 
upshot was that Helen got into the carriage, and drove off alone 
with him!” 

“You don’t say so!” 

“ I tell you it’s a fact.” 

“But who told you?’ 

“ The best person in the world. Dr. Hunt. His girls were 
there, too, or one of them was, and she went straight to her 
parents with her story. Of course one can’t tell how much to 
believe, but the fact remains that she did it. That I can sweai 
to, for Hislop met them.’’ 

“ And what did he say?” 

“ I asked lum if he had seen Mr. Smith yet. I knew he had, 
you know, for I went down the road to meet him soon afte** 
Smith left, so he must have passed the carriage somewhere. He 
said ‘ Yes,’ with a broad grin , and that he must be a kind-hearted 
gentleman, for he was giving a young lady a lift. However, he 
couldn’t tell me which of th' ■ was, or anything more, so I 


MTi. SMITH, 37 

went off next day and met the doctor, who spontaneously gave 
me the whole history. Plelen was the one.” 

“ I dare say she asked him.” 

“ I dare say she did. But the doctor’s tale was that they were 
all invited, but none of the others would accept. His girl, at 
any rate, declined.” 

“ What a thumper!” 

“Of course. Smith knows better than to ask her — a spotty- 
faced thing, like a ferret!” 

“Well done, Helen!” ejaculated Philip. “Well done, fair 
Helen, brave Helen! I couldn’t have believed it, even of Helen!” 

“ But mind you don’t let it out to Milly.” 

“Who? I? What should I let it out for? However, if it 
comes to anything, she will hear of it fast enough.” 

“ Yes. I suppose so. But then it may not come to anj^thiug, 
and there would be no harm done.” 

“ Do you think it will ?” 

“How can I tell? You know them; I don’t.” 

Philip winced. “ You would know them, too, Sauffrenden, if 
it were not for your wife.” 

“Of course I should, my dear fellow; Pm not saying any- 
thing as to that. Bachelors know lots of girls they couldn’t if 
they had wives.” 

“But, after all, you know, it is but fair to say they are not 
worse than numbers of others. They don’t manage to keep it 
dark, as some do; but in reality they are not half as bad as 
they’re made out. I must say, I think it’s rather a shame of 

some people ” Here he stopped suddenly, remembering that 

Lady Sauffrenden was one of the pe(»ple he was referring to. 

“Well, I think it is. But, you see, Milly’s at the bottom of it,” 
said her husband, frankly, “ She’s rather sharp on girls; and, of 
course, she would not like that about Smith.” 

Philip was silent. He did know and he could not deny it: 
it chafed him. Sauffrenden, who would know people in spite of 
everybody, who had introduced him to many an acquaintance 
he would fain have avoided, had one elevation on which he took 
his stand superior — and that ground was the Tolletons. 

He knew that Sauffrenden longed after the Tolletons. He 
knew that all the time he plumed himself on abstaining from 
intercourse with them, it was because he felt this to be the only 
compensation for their loss. And when he had called on Mr. 
Smith, on purpose to please his friend, he did feel it to be rather 
hard that it was through Mr. Smith the naughty gMs were now 
in fresh disgrace. 

Therefore he was silent. 

By the time they had come under the drawing-room windows 
again, however, he had thought of something to say. 

“ After all, you know, the Tolletons ” 

“ Take care,” interrupted Sauffrenden, quickly, and glancing 
up at the windows; “ don’t say the name so loud. Can’t you say 
the 2^’s, and then no one will know who it is?” 

“ What does it signify?” 

“ Why, you see,” with a little of the guilty air himself, “ she’s al- 


88 


MR. SMITH. 


ways catching me at it. I don’t know how it is, but as surely as I 
happen to say a word about them — the Hs, you know — a bird in the 
air carries it all over the place. So, of course, she thinks I’m al- 
ways at it. There now, you see.” For at this moment out stepped 
Lady Sauffrenden from the conservatory — a bunch of flowers in 
one hand, and a pair of garden scissors in the other. 

“ Well, dear,” said her husband, accosting her rather anx- 
iously, “who are these for? Not me, I know; you never give 
me bouquets now.” 

“ You get one nearly every day,” retorted the little lady, good- 
humoredly. “And you don’t deserve them for telling such 
stories. These are for the drawing-room.” Then to Captain 
Wellvvood~“ Have you any engagement for Friday ?’’ 

No, he had none for any day. 

“What’s Friday, Milly?” Her husband arrested the invita- 
tion. 

“ Mr. Smith is coming to dinner, and the Fultons, and one or 
two others. I hope Captain Wellwood will come too.” 

“Will you come, Philip?” 

“Certainly I will come; I always come when Lady Sauf- 
frenden asks me.” 

“ And bring Jumper.” 

“ Jumper will be very happy.” 

“ I daresay Smith w^ould drive you over if he knew.” 

“ Oh, why should he?” 

“ Save the Buck. But, of course, four miles is nothing to 
him.” 

“ I like the walk, if it’s fine. I sha’n’t take the Buck.” 

Lady Sauffrenden pressed her husband’s arm, and no more 
was said. 

“ He did not like your suggestion of Mr. Smith’s driving him,’* 
said she as soon as they were alone. 

“ Why should he dislike it? I would do it myself.” 

“Yes, you; but Philip is different.” She always called him 
“Philip” when they were by themselves. 

“ How is he different? I don’t see the difference. I thought 
it would be a convenience to him, as he has only one horse at 
present.” 

“ That’s it; if he had half our horses he wouldn’t mind.” 

“ My dear child, what nonsense you talk! If he had half our 
horses, why should he care to save them? If he had even his 
usual two, it wouldn’t matter so much; but he is saving Buck 
up till after Christmas. I know that is why he won’t go out 
with the hounds now. He’ll have his other one then; but he 
doesn’t want the old fellow knocked up. I knew he would be 
glad to save him; that was why I thought of Smith.” 

“You silh' boy,” began she, laughing; ‘‘that was just why he 
didn't like it. He didn’t like the idea of saving himself at IVfc-. 
Smith’s expense. Poor men are a great deal more particular 
about such matters than rich ones. I quite agree with him.” 

“Oh, don’t you teach me. Mill. I know fellows who would 
snonge on anybody for the sake of saving their pockets a 
snilling.” 


MR. SMITH 


39 


It is not because they are poor, then, but because they are 
mean.” 

“ They are poor, too. Being poor makes them mean.” 

“No, no, it isn’t so, Sauffrenden,” cried she, warmly; “that 
isn’t the reason at all. It has nothing to do with their being 

E oor. Mean people will be mean, if they were as rich as Croesus; 

lit if they are not mean-minded, they will take more care about 
not appearing so when they are poor, than they would if they 
were rich. I should, I am sure.” 

“ Lady Sauffrenden’s decision,” said her husband waving his 
hands gracefully, “ will always be mine. The pattern husband, 
Robert Frederick, Baron Sauffrenden.” 

The lady colored, and withdrew her hand. 

“Now don’t be cross, you stupid darling,” cried he, catching 
her round the waist. “I’ll kiss you before all the windows, if 
you don’t behave yourself.” 

“Oh, Sauffrenden, do take care! How ca?i you? You don’t 
know who may be looking out. How can you go on so ?” 

“ I didn’t doit,” said Sauffrenden, making a grimace at the 
windows; “ but I will, unless she’s good. Is she good now ?” 

“Perfectly good; good as gold. But just one thing, dear, do 
listen for a moment; I wish you would be a little more particu- 
lar in what you say to Philip"^ sometimes. I think you hurt him 
without knowing it.” 

“Hurt Philip!” 

“ You see he is terribly proud.” 

“Philip proud? That he is not, I am sure. I never found 
him so. I should say there wasn’t a bit of pride about him. He 
is as good a fellow as ever lived.” 

“That's the way a man judges. As if he would be proud 
with you! He’s too fond of you.” 

“ But he isn’t proud to anybody. I see him with the grooms 
and people.” 

“ As if he would show it to them, either!” 

“ Then who on earth is he to show it to?” 

“ He doesn’t show it, as you say, to anybody, Sauffrenden, 
but he feels it. I should say he was the proudest man I had 
ever met.” 

“My dear child!” In his amazement he dropped her hand 
from bis arm. “ Why, Milly, he goes to the Tolletons!” 

“That says nothing".” 

“You know it says a great deal. Hardly anybody goes to 
them now, and you won’t hear of having them here. I’m sure 
I should have no objection, poor things, but I always thought 
you made such a point of it.” 

“ So I do,” replied the lady, calml5\ “ I don’t wish to know 
the Miss Tolletons at all, and I don’t fancy Philip would either, 

if ” 

“ If what?” 

“ If he did not admire Helen.” 

“There, Milly, now you are wrong. He no more admires 
Helen than I do. That shows h'ow little you know about it. I 
could prove it to you, if I chose ” (thinking of Mr. Smith), “ He 


40 


MR. SMITH. 


only goes because he has nothing else to do with himself. He 
must have company of some sort, and he can’t be always here. 
I should do the same in his place.” 

There was no doubt of this, and Sauffrenden might feel that 
he had defended his absent friend with both truth and spirit. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE TEA-PARTY. 

From the foregoing chapter it will be seen that Lady Sauffren- 
den w^as perhaps possessed of rather more insight into character 
than her husband. Captain Wellwood had not been exactly 
hurt, but he had been rather amazed by Sauffrenden’s sugges- 
tion. Mr. Smith seemed to be always coming in his way. He 
had not gone half a mile before he saw him on the road iii front. 

“ He is going to the Tolletons’!” was the instantaneous con- 
viction. Thereupon Philip quickened his pace, and Mr. Smith, 
being rather a steady than a swift walker, was soon overtaken. 

It needed but a few preliminaries on the part of each gentle- 
man to discover that Mr. Smith was going to the Tolletons’, upon 
\A hich Captain Wellwood immediately found out that such was 
his own destination likewise. Having dined there the night be- 
fore, he believed he ought to call. Mr. Smith was all complais- 
ance, and they walked forward briskly. 

Mr. Smith had made himself very nice to go to the Tolletons*. 
He wore a dark coat over light gray trousers, a half-high gray 
hat, gray tie, and gloves, all good of their kind, and admirably 
suited to the wearer. 

When his hat was on, nobody saw^ he was gray at the tempter, 
and his ruddy cheeks and thick whiskers looked very well out 
of doors. His conversation was sensible, and his voice singular- 
ly soft and well modulated. In spite of himself, Philip w^as 
taken with his companion. There was an open unaffectedness, 
and a geniality of manner, which could not but please. He did 
not wish to like Mr. Smith, he saw no reason why he should like 
him; but had he been asked, he could not, with truth, have re- 
plied that he did not. 

The ladies w^ere at home, as Captain Wellwood shrewdly sup- 
posed they would be. 

There were fresh flowers in the drawing-room, and a blazing 
fire supplied the warmth which the autumnal sunshine, now 
beginning to wane, could not furnish. 

• Two of the sisters were busy! One had ensconced herself in the 
window, with her head bent over an illuminated page; the other 
was engaged in needle-work. Helen, who had apparently just 
come in-doors, stood by the table taking off her gloves. 

They were much surprised to see Mr. Smith, not expecting 
any one that dreary afternoon. It was such a raw dull day, and 
the roads were so unpleasant, and it was so kind in him to come. 
Captain Wellwood obtained a polite welcome, but all the enthu- 
siasm, the empressement, were for Mr. Smith. 

Mr. Smith must take the easy-chair, papa’s chair, and have it 
wheeled round, and the glass screen between him and the fire. 


MR. SMITH, 


41 


They must be very good to him, because it was so kind in him 
to come, and it would teach liim to do the same again. Tea 
would be up directly, and they had sent to let papa know; he 
did not always care for tea, but would be sure to come when he 
heard who was there. 

When the first bustle was over, nevertheless, it appeared to the 
spectator that the sisters were' not working quite so much in 
harmony as usual. Carry, for instance, took up her position on 
the sofa close to Mr. Smith’s left hand, Helen having playfully 
settled down upon a footstool on his right; and took no notice of 
several hints thrown out for her dislodgment. 

Helen was sure papa must have come in, and the servant have 
missed him; he was probably in his own room. Carry, on the 
other hand, was equally sure that had he done so, they must 
have heard him put his stick into the stand in the hall; a thing 
lie never failed to do with a great noise. 

Next, Helen wanted the blind pulled down. The sun was in 
Mr. Smith’s eyes, and Carry was the only one who knew how to 
manage the blinds. Mr. Smith protested that the sun was not 
in his eyes, and Carry let the blinds alone. 

Then Miss Carry must needs show her embroidery-work to Mr. 
Smith, albeit Helen was sure Mr. Smith would not care for 
modern tapestr}". He would not, however, himself acknowledge 
so much. He thought the workmanship ingenious and laborious, 
and gave great credit to the worker. Carry’s spirits rose. With 
praise of the workmanship, whatever he thought of the work, 
the worker ought to be satisfied. She returned to her misshapen 
monks with renewed zeal. But her end had come. 

Lily was not going to sit by and see things going wrong in 
that way. She had appropriated Captain Wellwood herself, 
and retired to a distance with him, but she now saw it was Jiigh 
time to interfere. her prompt aid to one sister, she soon 
routed the other. She wished to show her work likewise, and 
having boldly requested Carry to give up her place, seated her- 
self on the arm of the sofa for half a minute, then made short 
work of the illumination, and returned to Captain Wellwood. 
It was all done easily, speedily, and well. Helen was left in full 
possession of the field. 

Mr. Smith appeared to be quite content with the arrangement. 
The rest were in the bow-window, he and she alone by the fire. 
Helen, now shading her face with her handkerchief, now letting 
the dancing firelight play upon it, now throwing out the sugges- 
tion of a small well-shapen foot, now drawing her skirts hastily 
over it, put herself into a variety of pretty attitudes. Her hat 
grew too hot, and she tossed it off upon the rug. Then the neck- 
tie must come off too, and the brooch be fastened afresh, and the 
jacket undone, and a little business made about the whole, 
which showed off those pretty white fingers with the turquoise 
rings to perfection. All the time she was prattling to him, looking 
up at him, wiling, if she could, his heart out of his bosom. 

There was no doubt that Mr. Smith enjoyed it all; that he 
liked very well to sit in the easy-chair, looking at the firelight 
through the glass screen, and every now and then taking a peep 


42 


MR, SMITH, 


down at the handsome head with its glossy coils of hair beside 
him. He would not have been human if he had not found a 
certain fascination in this state of things, and he was very 
human. 

“Don’t you find it sometimes rather dull when you aren’t 
moving about?” said she once, when the conversation in the 
window was loud and lively. 

“Yes, indeed; but one must get used to it; although I don’t 
think one ever does get' altogether used to it, Miss Tolleton. I 
feel more lonely now sometimes than when I first began to live 
bj' myself; it may be coming back to England — when one is 
abroad, people seem to live more in company.” 

“You have been a great deal abroad ?” 

“ The best part of my life. I had no ties at home, and a great 
desire to see the world.” 

“ It is said to have no ties, isn’t it?” said Helen, softly. 

“Yes,” meditating, “sad, but not so sad as some things. 
Friends lam very rich in; they ought to make up to me for the 
want of kith and kin.” 

“ Only they never do.” 

“ You think not?” 

“ They would not to me, at least.” 

“Ah, you are well off,” glancing at the other group. “You 
have a happy home; you have nothing to wish for.” 

“ You forget,” said she, in the same soft tones. “ I had once 
a mother.” 

He felt shocked at himself. The party seemed so complete — 
the sisters so independent, so self-reliant — that the idea of any 
blank had never occurred to him. The gap had so filled up that 
even the marks were invisible. He stammered an apology. 

“ It is a loss,” Helen went on, “ which is to be felt, perhaps, 
more than understood. We vi^ere so young that it is difficult to 
realize what it must have been to us, but I fancy we often feel 
the effect without knowing what it is.” 

This was true and genuine, but it was not simplicity which 
put it into expression — it was rather a high degree of art. Mr. 
Smith was touched, and regarded her with more interest than 
before. 

“ I, too,” he began. Oh, how provoked Helen was with her 
father’s joyous w^elcome at that moment! — that moment which 
might have been fraught with results! They had grown so con- 
fidential, so personal! Their voices were so low’ that nobody 
but he w’ould ever have dreamed of interrupting. “I, too”-^ 
what w’as he going to say? Was he going to tell her anything? 
Was he going back to bygone days? going to unlift the veil 
which hung over his past life? to confide in her? to share wdth 
her some memory, some retrospect? Was there ever anything 
so tantalizing ? The only comfort was, she fancied that he was 
as much provoked as herself. 

How’ever, the thing w’as done. A dialogue broken off at this 
])oint could by no means be brought togjgther again. A little 
graceful reluctance she might show, but i^e she must, and ring 
the bell, and order in the tea. 


MR. RMITH. 


43 


Corker knew better than to bring tea without its being rung 
for. He had once or twice committed- this tremendous blunder, 
at the time the autumn maneuvers were going on, and had stop- 
ped two declarations, and spoilt a farewell; at least it was in 
consequence of the belief that he had, that he had been ad- 
monished on the subject. 

The girls always told their visitors that the tea was just coming 
up, but it never ai^peared till they rang for it. “ Maldug it that 
wash,” the indignant butler declared, that he wondered “ they 
could swally it down their throats.” He was not allowed, we 
must explain, to pour the boiling water into the pot till the sum- 
mons came. Helen, in giving the order, had informed him that 
they did not like their tea to stand, but good care was taken 
nevertheless, that it did stand a very reasonable time in the 
drawing-room. 

Afternoon-tea at Freelands was a great time. When the 
autumn maneuvers were going on it was usually held out of 
doors, and every day there were swarms in attendance. But 
after all, even with the addition of peaches and nectarines, the 
cozy meal vras scarcely more pleasant out of doors than in the 
house. There were plenty of little shady nooks in the drawing- 
roo?n, that did just as well as the out-of-the-way seats in the 
shrubbery; and if there were peaches in the autumn, and j-traw- 
berries and cream in the summer, there were muffins in the 
winter. 

A few minutes after the bell rang. Corker might be heard in 
the passage. A clink and jingle might perhaps be beard like- 
wise, giving rise to immediate and premature hopes. Then the 
door would fly open, and our friend appear, to the astonishment 
of novices, empty-handed. Stepping up to a corner in the 
wall, he would draw thence a curious combination of legs, which 
was instantly and under your very eyes transformed into a table 
—a low, oblong table. From the same recess another bundle of 
legs sprung into another table. A third time the process was 
gone through, and the three, forming a triangle, stood waiting. 
A shining tea-service on a shining-tray was then deposited on 
one; a mass of harlequin cups and saucers of the most delicate 
and suggestive colors on another; and cake, biscuits, bread and 
butter, and muffins, on the last. 

For about ten minutes no one would take any notice, and the 
muffins would have been ruined had they not had their own pri- 
vate application of hot water beneath. 

It depended then very much on who was of the company, 
which sister took charge of the tea-table. 

On the afternoon in question Helen rose, and poured out a 
delicious cup, frothy with cream, for Mr. Smith. She next sup- 
plied him with a hot brown muffin, crisp and tender, and guilt- 
less of grease, and finally drew a stand to his elbow to place the 
cup and plate upon. He was not allowed to do anything him- 
self — “ it was against the law of the house.” 

Her father had next to be attended to. Mr. Tolleton’s taking 
tea was according as his daughters gave it him, or not. If there 
were many to be attended to, he went without. On the present 


44 


MR. SMITH. 


occasion, hovrever, he was to be honored, and second to none but 
the principal guest, obtained a cup which, if not quite so super- 
abundantly frothy, was still exceJlent, and Helen quite the at- 
tentive daughter. 

The next was for herself, but as she poured it out she called 
to Lily to know why she did not come and give Captain Well- 
wood his tea. 

By this Lily knew the coast was clear, and Philip got his tea 
— but alas! there was no froth on his cream. 

Helen helped herself to a comer of muffin, and carrying it off 
on the e.aucer of her cup, again took her seat on the footstool. 

She had forgiven her father for his untimely interruption, and 
joined in the conversation graciously. After all, it was not 
probable that they would have been long undisturbed, as Cap- 
tain Wellwood did not return to the window after getting his 
tea, but stood upon the rug. He was quite capable, if he had 
chosen to do so, of quitting the other sisters even without any 
special excuse, not standing on much ceremony either with 
Carry or Lily. Helen thought he very hkely would have come 
up at any rate. Poor fellow! He did not like her neglecting 
him, it was evident. Therefore she threw the deserted one a 
smile, and a word or two, every now and then over her shoulder; 
so much, she felt, friendship required of her. The rest of her- 
self she might devote to Mr. Smith. 

Papa’s conversation began to flag, and she was afraid that Mr. 
Smith would go. But Mr. Smith, feeling very happy where he 
was, and perceiving that nobody wished him to go, stayed. 

Then Mr. Tolleton came out brilliantly. His conversation had 
only declined because he w'as revolving in his mind the one sub- 
ject on which he had entire liberty to act for himself, and that 
was inviting people to dinner. As a rule, his daughters liked 
having people to dinner, and, from long experience, he had 
grown so sharp about knowing what people they would espe- 
cially like, that they now allowed him unrestrained powers of 
action. He knew they would like Mr. Smith; and during the 
time he had appeared inattentive, he had been reckoning the 
weeks since his mother’s death, to see if he could with decency 
invite him. 

When the invitation was given, Helen’s face told him he had 
come to a right conclusion. 

But Mr. Smith was very sorry, for Friday he was engaged. 
One person, who knew as much before, expected him to say 
where. People do, you know. If they are only going to dine 
with Jones, there may be no occasion to mention it; but if they 
are engaged to the Castle, or the Park, or the Manor-house, it is 
more polite to say so. 

Mr. Smith, however, apparently thought otherwise. 

The invitation was then renewed and altered. There was to 
be no party, they could not have parties just then, being in 
mourning; he was at liberty to fix his own day; any day would 
suit, it was all the same to them, as there would be nobody there 
but himself, unless it were Captain Wellwood; if Captain Well- 
wood would kindly join them. 


MR, SMITH, 


45 


Here Helen’s face did not show quite so plainly as before that 
he was on the right tack, but she saw it was inevitable. With 
Captain Wellwood standing by, and unable to pretend he was 
not listening, since there was no one for him to talk to, it was 
impossible to avoid including him in the invitation. 

Would Saturday suit Mr. Smith? Mr. Smith would prefer 
Monday, if it really were quite the same to Mr. Tolleton. He 
seldom dined out on Saturdays; he liked his servants to have 
that evening quiet. Monday would do just as well, and Monday 
was tlie day. 

Captain Wellwood accepted his invitation likewise. Friday 
excepted, he had no engagements either. 

All was thus happily arranged, and, as it appeared, just in 
time. Philip had barely made his bow, the “ Very happy” was 
absolutely on his lips, when the door opened, and Corker, with 
an immovable countenance, announced Mrs. Hunt and the Miss 
Hunts. He then proceeded instantly in search of empty cups; 
but the new arrivals being only ladies, and, as he contemptu- 
ously described them, “the doctor set,” he contented himself 
with ostentatiously carrying out the muffin-dish, and not bring- 
ing it in again. 

In Mrs. Hunt’s face there was a look of demoniacal glee. It 
was dreadful to find Mr. Smith there, but it w^as delightful to 
catch him in the act. In the same moment that she noted 
Helen on the footstool, she thanked her stars that she had made 
Maria close up her jacket, and put on a clean necktie. 

Helen rose from her low seat with neither hurry nor confusion 
in her air. Her lithe figure was made for these ascents and de- 
scents. Just touching the arm of the easy-chair with the tips of 
her fingers, she rose at once to her feet, erect and graceful, 
welcomed her visitors with cordiality, and named Captain Well- 
w’ood with politeness. 

It was always said that this girl knew wonderfully well how 
to behave when she chose. 

For Mrs. Hunt she provided the same sort of chair from which 
Mr. Smith had risen, and prevailed on him to reseat himself, 
placed the chair close beside his, made Maria take up the po- 
sition from which Carry had been routed, and drew Clare into 
the proximity of Captain Wellwood. There was nothing any 
one of them could complain of. 

Then Corker brought in the tea-pot afresh, and when Miss 
Tolleton saw no muffin-dish, she knew what he meant. 

The tea was still good, and though there was no trace of froth 
on the cream, there was cream. Mrs. Hunt could have enjoyed 
it and her rich cake very comfortably, if it had not been for one 
thing. Maria was so placed that all the light there was, fell 
through the window directly on her head. Now, unfortunately, 
Maria had that day been endeavoring for some time unsuccess- 
fully, and at length with only very partial success, to twist her 
hair into the new-fashioned coils which Helen Tolleton assured 
her were just coming into vogue. 

Helen’s own sleek iiair was twisted round and round her head, 
and crept down the back of her neck in these coils — soft, glossy, 


46 MR. SMITH. 

black coils — and Mr. Smith had admired them very much in the 
firelight. 

But Maria’s hair was neither black nor glossy, nor was it suf- 
ficiently abundant for any but a very experienced hand to have 
fashioned into coils at all. The consequence was, that in most 
places the frizettes beneath were altogether laid bare; and that 
where this was not the case, they were only covered by thin 
streaks of hair, few and far between, and that hair being of a 
light sandy hue, very distinguishable from the framework. 

Sitting where she did, this was not only perceivable to the 
mother’s eye, but she saw that it was obtruded on the notice of 
Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith could not help seeing it; and, in fact, be 
was at that very moment contrasting it with the other head so 
lately beside his chair. 

Mrs. Hunt coughed, fidgeted, and thought what she could do 
to displace her daughter. The fire was too hot for her? But 
there was the glass screen. She was crumbling her cake? But 
the last morsel was being swallowed. Maria was as impenetra- 
ble as Carry had been immovable. Her mother saw there was 
nothing for it but to let her alone. 

Maria was in great force. Perfectly unconscious of anything 
objectionable, she drank her tea, simpered small observations to 
Mr. Smith, and had in truth no eyes for any one in the room but 
Captain Wellwood. 

AVhat a magnificent man! What a lover, what a husband! 
She and Clare had seen him in church, and met him out of 
doors; and envied the Tolletons, who spoke to him and danced 
with him. 

But the Tolletons knew that Captain Wellwood did not recip- 
rocate their gently -hinted aspirations, and had therefore taken 
no notice of them. Now, the introduction had been unavoidable, 
and Maria was in a fever of delight. 

She was rewarded now for her pains and trouble, and the ach- 
ing arms her long business of the toilet had cost her; and was 
only a little jealous of Clare, who was taking her teacup out of 
Captain Well wood’s own hand. Captain Wellwood, when sum- 
moned, had unwillingly been obliged to convey one cup, but he 
had not gone back for another. He yawned, and looked rude 
and bored, and allowed Lily to give Maria hers. 

But what did Maria see of that? Would he speak to her? 
Would he notice her? Did he, or did he not, admire Helen ? 

Helen had disposed of the last question before, with words to 
this effect: “ My dear child, he is as poor as a church mouse. He 
never thinks of me, nor T of him.” But Maria could not so 
easily dismiss it; it was too much to her now. 

Meantime there was something in her mother's mind which 
she earnestly desired to accomplish, but yet had hardly courage 
for. There was nothing in the thing itself to take away her cour- 
age, but there was much in the fact that she wanted so very 
much to do it. 

If Maria would only keep her head out of the light, and if the 
others would only talk a little more among themselves, she 
thought, however, she could screw up her courage. Then the 


MH. SMITH. 


47 


light did fall away from Maria’s head, and the others did begin 
to talk a little more generally, and Mrs. Hunt summoned all 
her wits, and bolted out with — an invitation to dinner, and Fri- 
day was again the day. 

At the very worst moment, just when the little speech was 
far enough advanced to admit of no withdrawal, the other 
tongues ceased, and the end of it was distinctly heard by all. 
She knew it, and knew that her voice faltered as she named the 
day; but the thing was done, come what might, and if the in- 
vitation were accepted, she cared not wlio heard it given. 

Mr. Smith was again very sorry, but (as the others already 
knew) he was engaged beforehand. 

Mrs. Hunt’s face fell and her color rose. 

She had not the slightest doubt that his engagement was to 
the house he was now in. It was all as she had prophesied. It 
was already a gone case. 

There was a general hush. Captain Wellwood expected that 
now Mr. Smith would surely tell where he was going, and the 
Tolletons listened anxiously in case he did so. 

The hush, however, remained unbroken, and in spite of him- 
self, Philip recognized a certain nobility in the trifling fact. If 
no one would tell, he would. He wanted to see what Mr. Smith 
would say. I shall meet you at Sauffrenden, I believe?” said 
he. 

Then Mr. Smith owned such to be the case; and what a com- 
motion the intelligence wrought among all that planetary circle 
which had chosen him for their sun! It was as if a brilliant de- 
structive comet had rushed into their midst. 

No one had thought of Sauffrenden. Helen, although she 
knew that he had been there, had not thought of it. She won- 
dered at herself, but she was pleased neverthidess. If — if any- 
thing did come of it, this would certainly rank as an advantage. 
However little the Sauffrendens might care to visit Mr. Tolle- 
ton’s daughter, they would be on terms with Mr. Smith’s wife. 
Mrs. Hunt, too, was tolerably well pleased. Going to Sauffren- 
den was infinitely better than going to Freelands; and if Maria 
would only keep that frightful head turned the other way — she 
was gathering up her courage afresh, but the absolute silence 
among the other planets awed her. 

Captain Wellwood, having dragged the subject, as it were, 
neck and heels into the conversation, suddenly left it to shift 
for itself. He had seen how Mr. Smith received it, and that was 
all he wanted. Mr. Smith had behaved like a gentleman. He 
was a jolly old boy, and he began to see why Lady Sauffrenden 
liked him. ^ 

But Mr. Smith was not so well pleased with Philip. He did 
2iot see why the subject should have been brought in, and was 
annoyed that one which he had already begun to suspect was 
not agreeable to his entertainers should have been forced upon 
tliem. He was therefore silent, like the rest. 

Helen was the first to recover herself. “ How is Lady Sauf- 
frendeu?” said she, turning o Philip with an air of concern for 
her Ijoalth. 


48 


MR. SMITH. 


“ She’s all right. Has there been anything the matter with 
her?” 

“ Only she is not at all strong, and tries her strength far too 
much. But they have been living very quietly lately — no one 
has been there at all— so I hope she has been taking care of her- 
self.” 

“ No doubt, and got quite well again; for ” (a little maliciously) 
“ they expect lots of people next week.” 

Lots of people! Lots of dear, delightful, smart people! 
Rotund dowagers, made-up peers, harum-scarum second sons, 
and girls not a tenth part as good-looking as herself! Oh, how 
Helen would have delighted in Sauffrenden, if only Sauffrenden 
would have delighted in her! 

Then she looked at Mr. Smith. He was stout, it was true, 
and turning gray; but she felt she should not be ashamed of 
him. She felt he would not do the things her father did, nor 
say the things he said. She absolutely wondered whether he 
would be ashamed of her. 

Helen was not the hoyden Lily was; nor so stupidly uncon- 
scious of her own defects as Carry. She felt dimly now and 
then that she and her sisters were wild and lawless, and was 
bitterly indignant if it crossed her mind that they were looked 
askance upon; but the temptation came, and, in the heyday of 
her youth and beauty, she stifled resolutions and forgot regrets. 

One of these evanescent resolutions came into her mind now, 
as slie looked at Mr. Smith; but Mrs. Hunt opened her lips, and 
it was gone. 

Mrs. Ilunt had rallied her forces, and \vas bent on another 
venture. If Mr. Smith was engaged on Friday, would he make 
it Monday ? on Monday they were going to have a few friends 
likewise. 

Alas! her grasp wanted the breadth of the Tolletons. It was 
quite as tenacious, as unyielding; but it was timid, as was natural, 
seeing that there were no coadjutors, and a great forest of ene- 
mies’ eyes and ears in ambush on every side. If she could have 
allowed Mr. Smith to name his own day, as the Tolletons did — 
with none hearing the flattering words but Philip Wellwood, 
who was in a manner bound over to keep the peace, Mr. Smith 
would have done so, and her point would have been gained. 

But she was afraid. She wished it to appear that he had only 
been asked, on the spur of the moment, to make a twelfth atone 
of Dr. Hunt’s little dinner-parties; and, foiled on Friday, took 
refuge in Monday. 

Monday would* really have suited her arrangements better, as 
she did intend to have some other guests; and two additional 
days in which to collect them would have been just as well. 

But when Mr. Smith was again obliged to decline, Mrs. Hunt 
Iniew what compelled him. 

She rose to go, almost immediately. 

Ml. Smith rose too, and glanced at his companion, Philip’s 
glance in return was significant. He was not going, and he aid 
not mean to stay behind alone. A slight imperious gesture de- 
tained the other gentleman. As the door shut he spoke. 


MR. SMITH. 


49 


“ If you can wait a few minutes, sir, I will show you the 
short cut through tlie plantation ; it leads into your own.” 

“ Oh, certainly!” Mr. ToUeton was obsequiously indorsing 
the suggestion, the plantation being his own; but Captain Well 
wood proceeded, without having the grace to stop — 

“Just wait till that good woman and her daughters are safe 
out of sight.” 

Accordingly, they remained another five minutes, and then 
took their leave. 

Before parting in the short cut, Mr. Smith had asked Captain 
Wellwood to favor him with his company on his lonely drive to 
Sauffrenden, and Philip had been graciously pleased to accept 
the invitation. 

“ If she marries him, it will be the best day’s work she ever 
did in her life,” concluded he; “ but it is rather too good a joke, 
the she makes love to him.” 


CHAPTER VII. 
mama’s day. 

Good as the joke was, Mrs. Hunt did not see it. Poor Maria 
had a sad walk home. With her head full of Captain Wellwood, 
of his necktie, his ring, and his bow — the said head was cruelly 
used by her rnother. She wondered Maria could go out such a 
figure. She had told her and Clare both, a dozen of times, to 
come to her glass, if that in their room wasn’t hung so that they 
could see properly. Clare might have seen that her sister was 
decent when she went to make calls; but it was always the way 
— she was alw’ays to be made ashamed of them some way or 
other. For her part, she wondered what Mr. Smith could have 
thought of it. 

Maria cared not a jot what Mr. Smith thought of it; all her 
anxiety was to know what] Captain jWellwood thought of it. 
She appealed to Clare for a statement of the truth; and Clare 
owned she could not think where all the hair had slipped away 
to. 

Still Maria obtained some comfort ^from the reflection that, 
considering where she sat, at least he could not have seen the 
whole; and Clare further soothed her with the assurance that 
one side was a very great deal better than the other. 

“It was the worst.side that was next Mr. Smith,” pursued her 
mother; “ right under his very nose. And as if you must needs 
make it even more observable, you kept turning and twisting 
your head the other way, as if on purpose to show it to him, 
w'hether he would or no. I daresay he thought it was all false 
together — what there was of it, at any rate; for it seemed to me 
nothing but a mass of frizettes.” 

“ Oh, mamma, don’t say any more about it,” interposed Clare, 
good-naturedly. “ It was not so bad as all that, Maria. And it 
was a good thing the worst side was next Mr. Smith, and not 
Captain Wellwood.” 

“ Captain Wellwood ? And pray, what did it matter to Cap- 
tain Wellwood ? What is Captain Wellwood to us?” cried her 


50 


MR. mim. 


mother. “ A man who has ahvays been as rude and nasty to 
your father and me as he could be. A man I have a perfect dis- 
like to, and never wanted to make acquaintance with at all. 
Oh, he was too fine a gentleman even to shake hands with me 
to-day, but must needs bow, as if he had been a royal duke, when 
I passed by. If it hadn’t been for him and his airs, I am sure 
Mr. Smith would have walked home with us to-day. I could see 
he was looking for his hat and gloves when I rose, and then my 
gentleman went up and spoke to him, and got him to stay, be- 
cause he wanted to have his flirt out wdth Helen.” 

Maria and Clare protested with equal vehemence against this 
rendering of the scene. 

It w^'as far more likely to have been Mr. Smith who kept 
Captain Wellw^ood. They were convinced Mr. Smith wished to 
stay. Captain Wellw^ood had shown far stronger symptoms of 
going than ever Mr. Smith had, for he w ent to the door and 
too opened it. If he did speak to the other, it w’as to ask him to go. 

In fact, it suited them that Mr. Smith should be the culprit, 
and it suited their mother that it should be Captain Wellwood. 

Now that Maria and Clare had seen their hero face to face, 
had spoken to him, bowed to him, taken their tea (at least Clare 
had) from his own finger's, they felt by no means so certain 
that he must admire Helen. Clare thought he c)id not take 
any special notice of Helen, and Maria affirmed he was quite as 
attentive to Clare herself. She, in return, disclaimed with 
delight, and assured her sister, as a rew'ard, that nobody but 
that old fright Mr. Smith could have seen the unfortunate hair; 
and who cared what he thought. 

This was for their own room; a different state of things pre- 
vailed in the parlor. 

There Mrs. Hunt was giving a detailed account of her visit 
to her husband, w’ho, luckily for her, w^as not one to be either 
uninterested or unsympathetic. In fact, the doctor was as great 
a maneuverer as his wife; and when his dignity was not com- 
promised — and it was a small and easily satisfied dignity — could 
listen to her Svith a very good will. 

Maria’s hair received its due 'meed of censure, and she knew 
that such had been the case the moment she entered the room. 
She knew^ it by the glance of her fathe ’s eye toward her 
head as she entered, and the evident check received there, for 
she had lost no time, after returning home, in disburdening 
herself of the obnoxious mass. 

“ Well, I’m glad to see you have made yourself • more respect- 
able,” said her mother; “ and I do hope it will be a warning to 
you, Maria. For I will say that of the Tolleton girls, whatever 
be their faults — and I’m sure I’d be puzzled to name another 
good thing about them — they always contrive to have their hairs 
nice. Go when you will, early or late, you never catch them 
with great frizettes sticking out, and hairpins showing in every 
direction. What they use I can’t say, but Helen’s head was like 
satin this afternoon.” 

“ They don’t use anything,” said Maria, unable from habit to 
resist defending her friends, though at the moment she did feel 


MR. SMITH. 


51 


rather sore on the subject of Helen’s satin head. ‘‘ Tt’s just the 
same when tliey brush it out, and it is no great merit their keep- 
ing it nice, they have such quantities.” 

“Well. I’m sure it isn’t often you hear me sav a good word 
for them,” truly rejoined Mrs. Hunt; “ but I do like to see tidy 
hair, and that’s what I never do see in my own house. I never 
ask you to go out but there’s such a fuss to get the hair done; 
and nothing to show for it, when it is. Clare’s] not quite so bad 
as you, but I have to speak to her too, most days.” 

“ Oh, well, mamma,” put in the doctor, who thought enough 
had been said, “she’ll not do it again. After all, it’s no such 
great crime. My girls stick to what is their own, and don't put 
on the filthy concoctions of other people — and that’s one thing, at 
all events. Well, Clare,” as Clare entered the room, “ and what 
did you think of Mr. Smith? Here’s your mother quite in love 
with him.” 

“I thought him very nice, papa, and he had got such a lovely 
flower in his button-hole, and ” 

“ Oh, Clare!’’ burst in Maria, “did you see Captain ” 

“Tut! tut!” exclaimed her father, impatiently; “what does 
that matter ? Let Clare say what she was going to say. Gro on, 
Clare.” 

“ You shouldn’t interrupt people,” added lur mother. 

“ It was his gloves, papa,” said Clare. “ They were lying on 
the table close to me, and they were the siceefest color. And then 
I looked to see what else he had on and his tie matched exactly, 
and he was dressed altogether splendidly— far better than Captain 
Well wood.” 

Cunning Clare! Both father and mother smiled approbation. 

“ If Clare, now, had been on the sofa beside Mr. Smith, she 
would have found something to make him talk about, I daresay. 
Maria only said such stupid things, that nobody could care for, 
and then kept turning and twisting the other way, showing him 
the whole back, and seeming as if she were listening to the non- 
sense that Wellwood was talking to Lily all the time. I’m sure 
I couldn’t hear anything very entertaining going on, and it was 
very rude to Mr. Smith. I daresay he didn’t think you at all nice 
or agreeable.” 

Maria slowly crimsoned during this speech. She had been 
listening to Lily and Captain Wellwood, she had been trying in 
a small, futile way to attract his attention. Mr. Smith she had 
regarded simply as a barricade. 

Clare, who had been the fortunate one throughout, now came 
to her sister’s rescue. She had had a delightful visit. Placed 
beside her hero, several times addressed by him, handed her tea- 
cup, favored with a special bow at departure. Then afterward 
no reproaches or innuendoes, but smiles and commendations from 
both parents. 

She was very sorry for poor Maria, who was always in hot 
water, which she had neither the wisdom to avoid falling into, 
or the tact necessary to extricate herself from. 

“ Well, mamma,” said her defender, “ I don’t think Mr. Smith 
could have minded, for he shook hands with us both so kindly, 


5 ^ 


MB. SMITH. 


and said he hoped we would make use of his short cut whenever 
we liked— anfl it was to Maria he said it.” 

This altered the case. Hopes were again entertained for Maria. 
Her father’s brow cleared, and her mother’s tongue softened. 
Ten thousand a year had made a great impression on Dr. Hunt 
since the day on which he had called Mr. Smith stout and apo- 
plectic. At that time he had barely received the first shadow 
of a conception of him as a son-in-law; but since then the idea 
had matured, and he was as anxious as his wife could be to think 
and speak of him, if not exactly as the young marrying man, at 
least as a man who meant to marry, and was not too old for it. 

“ Well, well,” said he, good-humnredly, “that was very kind 
and neighborly, I’m sure. The short cut will be very convenient 
to me sometimes, I can tell you— that is, if Maria gives me per- 
mission to use it.” 

“ I, papa!” 

“Yes, you. Clare says you were the favored person. Per- 
haps when he gave you leave, however, he did not mean to in- 
clude your whole family. You may take Clare, however, I sup- 
pose. I think, mamma, she must really take Clare, or we shall 
iiave it all over the village, if Maria is "seen walking about the 
Hill by herself.” 

“ I didn’t hear him say it, Maria,” said Mrs. Hunt, wistfully. 

“ No, no, mamma,” continued the doctor, looking very jocose, 
“ you didn’t hear, I daresay, Mr. Smith knew better than that, 
Maria, did he not? Those are not the sort of things mammas 
are allowed to hear, are they?” 

“ I’ll tell you when it was, mamma,” said Clare. “ It was when 
you dropped your glove, and we were all looking for it.” 

“And it was under Captain Well wood’s dirty boot all the 
time.” 

“Mr. Smith was shaking hands with Maria, and Lily said 
something about its being a longer walk between them and us, 
now that we had all the way round by the highroad to go: and 
Maria said Yes, and something about the short cut; and Mr. 
Smith looked at her, and said at once if it was his short cut she 
meant, he hoped she would make use of it — would not scruple 
to make use of it, those were the words — whenever she liked.” 

“And were the Tolletons to do the same?” inquired her 
mother, anxiously. 

“ Nothing was said about the Tolletons, but I daresay they 
took it so,” Clare owned. “For Lily thanked him as well as 
Maria. I think they took it as leave for all.” 

In saying this Clare sacrificed her friends. But then it lay be- 
tween her friend and her sister. And moreover, it was true, 
and it was necessary to be told; and after all, the Tolletons were 
in such dire disgrace about Mr. Smith as it was, that even this 
could hardly plunge them deeper. 

Maria had been skillfully piloted out of her troubles by a way 
she would never have discovered for herself, and Clare felt she 
had acted rightly. 

Mrs. Hunt, as it proved, was too well pleased to be very angry 
even with the Tolletons. She wondered, indeed, that any girls 


MR. SMITH. 


53 


could demean themselves so. She was sure none but those ever 
would. But then she was so certain that sucli impudent for- 
wardness must have disgusted Mr. Smitli, and so satisfied that 
the compliment had not extended one inch beyond her daugh- 
ter, that there was more exultation than anger in her heart. 

Maria was now formally consecrated to Mr. Smith. 

If she went out -walking, she was asked if she had been in the 
short cut. If she met Mr. Smith in the village her father pre- 
tended to think it was by appointment. She could not mention 
his name without blushing, nor hear it without alarm. It was 
dreadful. What was Mr. Smith to her, or she to him r She 
confided to Clare, with tears in her eyes, her opinion that he was 
an old horror; and why should she be teased out of her life by 
having him tacked on to her? It was very cruel. 

Clare’s worldly wisdom was to this effect. Mr. Smith might, 
or might not, be thinking of Maria; he did her no harm. And 
since their father and mother had taken this idea into their 
heads, she and Maria had obtained a great deal more liberty than 
they used to have — added to which, they most certainly would 
never have received those lovely new hats from papa if it had 
not been for Mr. Smith. 

“ Well, but is it right, that sort of thing ?” said Maria, con- 
scientiously. 

“ How can it be wrong? You had nothing to do with it; it is 
their own idea. And all you have to do is just to keep quiet, 
and not put on that face whenever his name is mentioned.” 

“ I can’t help it.” 

“You must help it, that’s all. What does it signify? The 
-vv’hole thing will die out of itself, and then nobody can find fault 
with you.” 

Clare’s expectations were not, it will thus be seen, very strong. 

“Don’t you see?” she went on. “Mr. Smith never bothers 
you, nor makes a fuss. Though papa chooses to think he does, 
that doesn't make him. And papa does exaggerate so; he is get- 
ting as bad as mamma. I shouldn’t wonder if Mr. Smith had never 
once thought about you at all; it was all a chance his happening 
to say to you that about the short cut, and that is what the^^ go 
upon most. And then, what does it matter, papa's laughing? 
He never does it before people.” 

“ He did it before Lily the other day, and I got so hot; I know 
she must have seen it. What do you think he said ? He asked 
her if it wasn’t rather a strange thing that I never went to the 
post-office in the afternoons now, without happening to meet 
Mr. Smith. Now, you know,” continued the astute Maria, 
“ there is nothing so very odd about it. Papa will send me every 
day, and he knows that Mr. Smith always calls for his afternoon 
letters himself.” 

“ Oh, well, Maria, Lily would never think anything of that. 
It would never enter their heads that papa was not onlj^ in joke. 
As if the^ would ever think of Mr. Smith! If you take no no- 
tice, it will all blow over.” 

All this was very sensilile, no doubt. But still it dawned upon 
Maria that whereas it was she who had all the disagreeable part 


54 


MR. SMITH. 


of the business to bear, Clare reaped the benefits in an equal de- 
gree. It was, therefore, to say the least of it, easy for Clare to 
talk. 

They both enjoyed the increased liberty she had alluded to, 
and their new hats were precisely alike. When they availed 
themselves of the short cut, it was quite as much to please Clare 
as Maria. Yet Maria alone had to endure the odious joking 
afterward. 

Clare pointed out that they could not do without the short 
cut. It was by taking it that they ran their surest chance of 
meeting Captain Wellwood; indeed they had absolutely met him 
in it once. Maria \ras quite as eager as she to meet him, and the 
day that they had done so. and had on their new hats likewise, 
she had forgiven Mr. Smith everything. 

Captain Wellwood had barely stopped a minute, had remarked 
it was a nice day for a walk, supposed they were going to see 
the Miss Tolletons, and moved on. On this meeting, however, 
they built fresh hopes from day to day. With burning cheeks 
and bated breath, they told of it at Freelands, and wondered at 
the coolness with which it was received. At home, it had 
merely raised a speculation as to whether Captain Wellwood 
had received permission to be there; and it had been added that 
he had the face to go, whether he had had leave granted him or 
not. 

But this did not lessen the thing at all. By themselves Maria 
and Clare talked and talked, and talked themselves into the 
most foolish of vain imaginings, and then put on the captivating 
hats again, and sallied forth in hopes of another meeting. They 
traversed the short cut daily. 

Once they saw his hat. They were sure it was his hat — a gray 
hat, a quickly-bobbing hat, a hat that was vanishing before their 
eyes. 

“ Don’t run, but walk as fast as ever you can. Maria, and we’ll 
come up with him at the bridge,” whispered Clare, panting. “I 
know a way down by this bank, here, you see; the leaves have 
half hidden it, but I know it conies out at the bridge. Take 
care! What a noise you- make! I wish you would not go falling 
about that way.” 

“ Oh, look, Clare! look what I’ve done! Such a smear! What 
shall I do?” in loud whispers. “ Perhaps we had better not go 
on ?” 

“ Oh, nonsense! Hide behind me, and no one can see. Why, 
what does it matter? it’s nothing,” said Clare, whose own dress 
was not smeared. “ Now be quiet, and walk slowly, and don’t 
breathe in that way. He can’t have come all this round yet. 
There he is!” 

But, oh the disappointment, the vexation! It was there all 
right, the hat. but it belonged not to Captain Wellwood, but to 
Mr. Smith. 

Maria, in her sudden revulsion uf feeling, would have turned 
back, but Clare stopped her. “ Von can’t now; he has seen us. 
It’s too late; we must just come on. Do keep quiet and be civil; 
there’s nothing to mind. Pajia will be delighted, at all events.” 


MR. SMITH. 


55 


Papa was. TTo niatlp Clare repeat all abou the meeting a 
dozen times over; and when she came to (he part where Mr. 
Smith had accompanied them as far as the stile, and bade them 
gather his snowdrops and primroses as soon as ever they began 
to lift their heads above the ground, he looked at Maria, chuckled, 
laughed aloud, and winked repeatedly, till she was as red as a 
peony. 

Mrs. Hunt, in high good-humor, told Maria not to mind. 
Papa would have his joke, and the girls needn’t mind him. For 
her part, she should always be glad to meet Mr. Smith, and have 
a friendly chat, whether it come to anything or not, A nice, 
pleasant man like that, it was really too bad of papa to go and 
make them shy with him by saying such things. If he did 
think of Maria, he had never said anything; and if she were her, 
she would take no heed of papa’s nonsense, but just be as 
friendly and easy with Mr. Smith as she liked. 

Maria was in high favor at this time. There were no more 
dissatisfied looks, and comparisons drawn between her and 
Clare, to the advantage of neither, but to the greater disad- 
vantage of Maria. The sisters went to Freelands as often as 
they liked — far oftener, indeed, than when they were wanted 
there; and the Tolletons escaped with wonderfully little animad- 
version. 

It \vas Clare’s doing, and she had to keep a brisk lookout on 
Maria all the time, lest in one unguarded moment she should 
spoil all. She had to keep Maria silent during her father’s 
sallies, by admonitions of eyes, hands, or feet under the table; 
and all the fuel whicli kept the fiame alive within her parent’s 
bosom was supplied by her. Clare, for a fool, had her full share 
of fool’s cunning. 

Of course, the Tolletons knew what was going on, and a fine 
piece of fun it was to them. 

They could make their own out of it, too. By encouraging 
the idea, insinuating gentle suspicions, and boldly fabricating 
rumors, they went far to make poor Maria believe there was 
truth after all in it. 

Then they delicately hinted the same to Mrs. Hunt. Mrs. 
Hunt must not believe it was their thought; such a thought had 
never crossed their minds, but they had heard something of the 
kind from other quarters. No, they must not name names. One 
of the Miss Hunts; that was what was said. They were not 
going to ask which, and they would promise Mrs. Hunt not to 
circulate the report further, if she would just say — was it 
Maria ? 

Mrs. Hunt almost liked the girls that afternoon. She was not 
going to answer any such questions. For her part, she did not 
know what they could be thinking of. She had never noticed 
anything — at least, hardly anything — nothing of the least con- 
sequence; and she begged they wouldn’t put such nonsense into 
her girls’ heads. Well, if it was either of them, it was Maria; 
but she was quite uncertain of anything — was really barely sen- 
sible of any attentions. 

And then she felt almost affectionate to Helen ToUeton. 


MR. SMITH. 


50 

By that time Mr. Smith liad dined at tl)e Hunts’, and talked a 
good deal to Maria, as it was natural ho should, when she had 
been placed beside him on purpose. The doctor’s drawing-room 
had none of those little nooks and corners that were the charm 
at Freelands; any talking between a lady and gentleman had to 
be done boldly, imder the eyes of all tlie company assembled. 

Maria, however, had acquitted herself well, and her mother’s 
heart beat with pleasure when, on the appearance of the gentle- 
men up stairs, she saw Mr. Smith draw near to the tea-table at 
wdiich her eldest daughter presided.'^ Maria herself had more 
mingled sensations. She felt her dignity, but she felt it a painful 
one. It flurried her nerves. By instinct she provided her guests 
with the best tea she could muster; but it was harsh and cold, 
very different from Helen’s creamy cups. Maria never could 
make tea. It mattered not what she put in, it was always the 
same. She poured, and calculated, and poured back again, till 
all were of the same horrid mediocrity. No one was allowed to 
have a taste, and it was indeed a chance if she suited that of 
any. Having both tea and coffee to manipulate on the night in 
question, and the presence of her supposed lover in addition to 
flurry her, it is to be feared that she gave young Rawdeu, the 
doctor’s assistant, a mixture; for he was observed to be making 
as wry faces over it as if it were a tonic. 

Maria was looking verj well for her. She had on a fresh 
white muslin, witli blue ribbons. Her mother had superintended 
her toilet, and at the close, done what she had perhaps never 
in her life done before, pronounced her approval. 

Mr. Smith certainly conversed more with Maria than Clare, 
Clare taking good care that he should, and keeping out of the 
way for that purpose; and it was on the day following that Mrs. 
Hunt called at Freelands, and owned in confidence that if it ivas 
either it was Maria. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE WOMAN WHO OUGHT TO BECOME HIS WIFE. 

We must, however, go back a little, and see what others were 
doing while the Hunts were making such progress. 

On the Friday for which Mr. Smith had had no less than three 
invitations, it will be remembered that he and Captain Well- 
wood were to dine at Sauffrenden, and that on Mr. Smith’s re- 
questing Captain Wellwood’s company on the way thither, 
Philip had granted it with the utmost readiness. 

Their entrance together might astonish Lady Sauffrenden. but 
it could not her husband. He knew all along what nonsense M 
was that Milly had been talking, and hoped she would now see 
that Phil was not such a goose as she had made him out to be. 

There were several other neighbors in the drawing-room, 
some of whom had called on the new proprietor, and some who 
had not; but those who had not, immediately resolved on 'doing 
so, seeing him dining at Sauffrenden, and escorting Captain 
Wellwood. He made his first appearance with eclat. 

Lord Sauffrenden was markedly attentive to the stranger, As 


MR. SMITH. 


57 


Mr. Smith chose to stand in the background, he stood in the 
background likewise, and during the ten minutes winch elapsed 
before dinner was announced, held him in conversation. Then 
Mr. Smith was requested to take Miss Fulton in to dinner. 

Miss Fulton had come with her brother the Admiral. She and 
the Admiral numbered among their acquaintance everybody of 
note within thirty miles of Fulton Hall; and many who did not 
know Miss Fulton otherwise, knew her by name. She was to 
be seen at every party, every meeting, every benevolent and social 
gathering in the neighborhood; and her other brother being 
rector of Fulton parish, she took upon herself many of the duties 
of a curate; besides performing to admiration the part of ama- 
teur clerk during church services. What poor dear brother 
would have done without her she did not know. The Admiral 
was all very well, but the Rector was her pet, her favorite, her 
poor dear brother. 

She regarded him as something between a fool and a saint; 
and was proud of his piety as '6f an honorable and thoroughly 
un remunerative distinction, befitting an old family, and by no 
means common i:i it. 

Miss Fulton wr.r: handsome, clever, aristocratic, accomplished, 
and benevolent, but — eccentric. She was universallj" liked, but 
universally laughed at. Her genius was underrated because it 
was genius, and not common talent. Her performatices were 
unappreciated, because of their originality. 

Nevertheless, she was a welc(*me visitor, wherever she went, 
and nowhere more welcome than at Sauffrenden. Lady Sauf- 
frenden knew a gentlewoman when she saw her, and Miss Fulton 
was undeniably a gentlewoman. Lord Sauffrenden said this was 
the rock his wife split upon, and that if a man knew how to 
stand and how to bow, Milly would forgive his committing mur- 
der. To this be had subjoined, that if a woman knew when to 
speak and when to be silent, Milly would forgive her telling a 
Im. But Milly had indignantly repelled both accusations. 

It was she who had arranged that Mr. Smith should take Miss 
Fulton in to dinner; and the moment Miss Fulton tose and at- 
tached herself to Mr. Smith’s arm, an instantaneous conviction 
thrilled through the whole assembly, that that was the woman 
who ought to become his wife. 

The IMltons were poor; and perhaps, considering the age of 
their family, it was not wonderful that it should have grown a 
little moldy. It is difficult to provide for such families. They 
cannot beg, to work they are ashamed. The Fulton living pro- 
vided for one son respectably, until, as one of the brotliers 
sneered, he should be fit for Canterbury; at which time he would 
hold himself in readiness to take orders — the wildest, wickedest 
George among them all, was this — and meantime he and the 
others got on as they could; being in and out of debt as constant- 
ly as a cork on the water bobs under the wave and comes up 
again. 

Thep there was a widowed isltu-, who always hankered after 
the Hall, and announced that when dear Cornelia married, she in- 
tended to come and take charge of the dear Admiral, Dear 


58 


MR. SMITB. 


Cornelia, however, was a long time in marrying, and her spin- 
sterhood was a jest among many who had not had a tithe of her 
offers. She was, it is certain, thirty-nine yeai-s of age, when 
she rose to take Mr. Smith’s arm, and in another year would be 
forty. 

But then what a difference is between thirty-nine and forty! 

Fulton Hall was not above eight miles from Eastworld, where 
Mr. Smith had built his house on the Hill; and for the sake of that 
house, those grounds, those carriages, ten thousand a year, and 
a husband, it was thought that Miss Fulton might yield her 
lUaiden dignity, and sink the name of Fulton in that of Smith. 

In another year she would be forty, and that ought to be, 
if it were not, an additional inducement. If only Miss Fulton 
were not so eccentric, she might be depended upon to see things 
in that sensible light. It was time she was married. Mr. Smith 
looked a quiet sort of man, probably easy-going and comfortable. 
His being at Sauffrenden was a guarantee for his good be- 
havior; and if allied to the Fultons, he would be received every- 
where. 

Accordingly, when Miss Fulton put her hand within his arm, 
and sailed out of the room, with her long, bunchy, black dress 
sailing gracefully after her, there was a general sensation, not 
so much of interest or approbation, as of calm certainty that 
such a marriage wpuld surely come to pass. 

For the fair Cornelia’s piece of mind, it was as well that this 
was all unsuspected by her. She was a great talker, and through- 
out the many courses her tongue might be heard in its usual 
strain of brilliant volubility, while she fanned herself and ate the 
best of the good things with an appreciating palate and a most 
happy insouciance. After dinner, at Lady Sauffrenden’s request, 
she sat down to the piano. The request was made because Miss 
Fulton’s music was m the Hall. When she dined out, she always 
sang afterward; but her singing, like the other things about 
her, was accounted little of, because it was eccentric. It was 
customary for strangers in the neighborhood to be asked by its 
inhabitants if they had heard Miss Fulton sing; and on their re- 
plying in the negative, to make them understand it was rather a 
joke. As soon as she began, they looked at each other, and those 
who were quite at the far end of the room smiled. 

Now it is true, that had one in contemplation Miss Fulton’s 
countenance, shoulders, or arms during the performance, one 
must undoubtedly have seen something to laugh at. The roll of 
the eye, the wriggle of the neck, and the flights of the fingers, 
were ridiculous. But the singing itself was not. She had a fine, 
full, flexible voice, and her Italian i)ronunciation was perfect. 

When Mr. Smith heard her sing, he drew near at once to the 
piano. The song was one he knew, and lie was enough of a 
judge to know immediately that it was well sung. He came to 
listen, not to look; and as he luckily stood behind the singer, 
tliere was nothing to distract his attention. He was able to en- 
jl5y it. 

Captain AVellwood, however, was on tlie Inoad grin. Lord 
Sauffrenden stepped behind a vvindow'- curtain. The rest of tlie 


MR. SMITH. 


50 


party, to hide their risibility, looked preternatural ly grave; and 
the lady of the house, bolt upright upon her chair, kept guard 
over them all, and prepared to say her “ thank you” at the end, 
with as much ardor as she could throw into it. 

That Mr. Smith, being at the lady’s back, should come for- 
ward and follow up the “ thank you ” with a few words of gen- 
uine admiration, seemed to some of the party as good as declar- 
in ’ 'mself. 



Lady Sautfrenden regarded it simply as a proof that he was, as 
she had said, one of the best-bred men she had ever met. She 
looked at him with new complacency in the silence that en- 
sued, and which no one broke for some seconds. 

The Admiral was engaged in confounding himself that he had 
not waited on his new neighbor before. The Tolletons, w4io were 
neighbors of most present, who lived within two miles of Sauf- 
frenden, and were nice people, living in a nice place, were never 
mentioned. 

All sorts of scraps of gossip about one thing and another went 
the round, for Sautfrenden was emphatically a gossipy house; 
there was sympathy for one friend, smiles for another, interest 
and curiosity shown about a third, but one name was never 
heard. ' It was not his business, of course, but still he would 
have been glad if the subject had been started. He was far from 
forgetting the glossy head beside his chair in the firelight; per- 
haps he had thought even more of it afterward than at the time; 
and once or twice, in the midst of Miss Fulton’s animation, not 
to say flightiness, it rose before hi)n with an odd incongruity. 
What connection could there be between two such opposite peo- 
ple. 

The Tolletons, nevertheless, were not ignored so entirely as 
Mr. Smith supposed. 

Philip knew who would not ignore them, and was quite pre- 
pared for Sauffrenden’s sly whisper when no one was listening, 
“Any news of the T's, eh?” 

“ It’s all in training,” with a glance at Mr. Smith, who was at 
that moment engaged in paying his compliment at the end of 
Miss Fulton 8 “ II Sigretto.” “He is to dine there on Monday; 
I’m going too.” 

“ Are you? I wish I were. What fun you’ll have! What a 
nuisance it is that they can’t behave like other ])eople, and one 
could go to their house properly! Is it to be a dinner-party? I 
wish I were going. I wish they would ask me.’’ 

“My dear fellow,” said Philip, laughing, “nothing in the 
world would give them greater pleasure than to ask you. If an 
invitation is all you want, it is easily arranged.” 

“Well, well; you know what I mean. And so he is to be 
there, is he? I daresay it will be very pleasant. I daresay 
Helen will make herself very charming.” 

“I daresay she will — most certainly she will, if she does as she 
did the other day.” 

“When was that? Oh, on the drive. But have they u»et 
sijiie? Do you think they have met since? It strikes me they 
must have been meeting somewhere between now and then, for 


60 


MR, SMITH. 


it is nearly a fortnight since then, you know. Let me see. It 
was the day he was here— that was a Monday; was it last Mon- 
day ? No, it couldn’t have been, for that was the day we went 
to the far cover, and you came on Tuesday; it must have been 
the Monday before, and that makes it right, a fortnight next 
Monday. What do you think, eh ?” 

“ Well, the fact isj” replied Philip, as indifferently as he could, 
but still with something of the inevitable guilty Tolleton air, 
“ that I met him going to call there just after I left you on 
Tuesday; so, as you had given me the cue, I thought I might as 
well see what was going on.” 

“ And so you went too ?” 

“Yes* I went with him.” 

“Well?” said Lord Sauffrenden, with the keenest interest. 
At this moment Ins wife was seen approaching. “ Want any- 
thing, Milly dear? Don’t tire yourself, my child; let me get it 
for you.” 

“ No, don’t mind, thank you, dear; it is only the key of the 
photograph-book. I am almost certain I put it on the table by 
this empty inkstand. Some one must have taken it.” 

“Oh, of course they have. It’s in the book, dear. The book 
is on the other table, by Mr. Smith; I daresay he has been look- 
ing at it.” 

“No, I want it for him. I put it there. But I do believe the 
key is in it. How could I be so stupid ?” 

Off she went. 

“Well, Philip?” 

“ We had a grand time,” said Philip, “and the old gentleman 
enjoyed himself immensely, no doubt. As for me, I was no- 
where. What a girl that is!” 

“Whew!” said Sauffrenden, with a little surprise. “Of 
course she is; that's nothing new. Besides, she is not the 
worst of them. Lily’s worse, and Carry wouUl be, only she 
can’t get the fellows to take up wuth her, unless the others won’t 
have them.” 

“ Lily is odious,” said Philip, shortly. 

“ And so the fair Helen really and truly — w^ell, she might do 
worse. But it’s such an absurd idea. What could have put it 
into her head ?” 

“ I never saw anything like the girl!” exclaimed Philip, with 
vehemence; the remembrance of his visit was not so pleasant as 
he made out. It is hard on a man to be thrown aside like an old 
shoe, when a new one, hovvever inferior in quality, fits better, 
and he had been accustomed for so long to fit the ladies at Free- 
lands. “ I never saw anything like the girl! She looks up at a 
man, and talks to him, and makes eyes at him, and goes on in 
such a way — it’s no wonder a simple soul like that is no match 
for her.” 

“She means him to be one, nevertheless,” said Sauffrenden, 
punning. 

“Pshaw! she means nothing of the kind. That is to say, 1 
dare say, it may come to that, but all she thinks of now is to 
bring him to her feet. It’s -it’s a shame.” 


MR. SMITH, 


61 


Vgain his friend felt surprise, but he only exj3ressed 
dence. “ I think you're wrong tliere, Phi). J don’t believe this 
affair will end like the rest. What fun could there be in bring- 
ing down an old bird like that ?” 

“A great deal more fun than a half-fledged one; but it may 
be as you think, after all. I wouldn’t give twopence for Smith’s 
chance of escape if it is so. If she really wants him, she’ll have 
him in spite of himself,” 

“ Well, he would get a wife that many would envy him. I 
dare say she is good-natured, and would tone down, and all that 
sort of thing. He might think himself very well off. I wonder 
how it will turn out. Milly has been turning the tables on me, you 
know. I said she was to find a wife for him, and so she has fixed 
on Cornelia. Look, she has settled them down with the photo- 
graph-book, and he had her at dinner. I dare say she’ll tell me 
to-night it’s quite a thing to be, but she doesn’t know what we 
know. I would give twenty pounds to be at the Tolletons’ on 
Monday night.” 

“ Oh, to dare to say that!” 

“ Hang it, I forgot! But no one was listening. Well, re- 
member to give me a full account; and now I’ll go and talk to 
the Dowager.” 

The Dowager was a great-aunt of his own, who every now 
and then honored Sauffrenden with her presence. She was as 
comely as a fresh skin, blue velvet, and diamonds could make 
her, and was in her way a great addition to the lots of people 
whose approach Captain Wellwood had heralded to the Tol- 
letons. 

Some of these had arrived, but many more were coming, 
Sauffrenden’s sister Rosamond was coming, and his cousin Mary 
Percy, and “ Fitz,” who was a young Fitz-Charles in the 
Guards, and the Aytouns, whom nobody wanted, and several 
entire families of fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters, with 
their valets and waiting-women, so that their Christmas was 
going to be a merry one. 

Philip was also to stay at the Castle; but when that stipula- 
tion was made by his friend, it was accompanied by a whis^red 
promise that every facility should be afforded him during the 
visit, for going to the T’s as often as he chose. Indeed, it was 
plain that so delighted was Sauffrenden with the secrecy, the 
audacity, and the rivalry attendant on the Tolletons’ new cam- 
paign, that however much he might envy every one who went 
to their house, he would no longer repine at their doing so. 

Miss Fulton was much pleased with Mr. Smith. He had been 
perfectly quiescent and passively polite, therefore she told her- 
self that he had been agreeable. Then he had praised her sing- 
ing, and with discrimination. And he knew people whom she 
knew at Naples. 

This satisfied her. She was in good looks and good spirits, 
and having once ascertained that her companion was worthy of 
it, she bestowed upon him the full fiow of her mind. As usual 
with her, she talked so much that she almost forgot whom, she 
was talking to. 


62 


MU. 


Tito Admiral, however, had not forgot. Ten thousand a-year, 
French cook, billiard-table, and ’34 port - what a fool he had 
been not to leave his card before! 

Confound the fellow’s name! If he were Brown, Jones, and 
Robinson rolled into one, he didn’t care. If Cornelia could 
only hook on there, it would be the snuggest anchorage for him 
that ever an old craft got into. He was already contemplating 
the loan of loose occasional hundreds, and considering how he 
could best manage to keep a couple of steady-going hunters at a 
brother-in-law’s expense, when he was roused by the immediate 
presence of the object of his reverie himself. His sister was in 
the act of presenting him. 

The Admiral made his best bow. He was at the same time 
more arrogant and less proud than she. From the time he had 
learnt the name of the man who was building the great house 
near East world, he had contemptuously dismissed him, house 
and all, from his thoughts. Directly lie met the stranger, a 
guest at Sauffrenden, heard of his wealth, and found him a 
bachelor, he was his very humble servant. He knew how to 
spread his sails to a fair breeze, whatever Corny did; and even 
she observed with surprise the lowness of his bow. She did not 
understand it. Thomas was not always so affable. Had she 
known what was in his mind, she would have bitten her tongue 
out with shame. As it w^as, she was only a little agreeably 
astonished, and stood by for a few minutes, listening. 

The Admiral entered into conversation at once in a bluff, 
hearty, off-hand way, whose openness seemed to guarantee, 
“Here he is! I’ll answer for him! Simple old sailor, very 
friendly, true and honest lo the backbone, and as guiltless of 
machination as a baby.” The Admiral had hoped to have had 
the honor of waiting on Mr. Smith before, felt quite ashamed to 
meet him anywhere but in his own house for the first time; but 
he must look it over, must consider an old fellow’s infirmities; 
no longer in his prime, as Mr. Smith was, and had been fairly 
tied at home by the leg. 

Gout and rheumatism was his mixture, sometimes stronger of 
the one, sometimes of the other. 

Capital doctor, Dr. Hunt. Mr. Smith had not yet had occasion 
for bis services. Hoped it would be long before he had. Doctors 
were like Mother Carey’s chickens, only to be seen in foul 
weather. Had a friend who was asked the other day for his 
doctor’s name, and couldn’t tell, for he hadn’t consulted one for 
fifteen years! That was the sort of man to live with, and get an 
appetite for your meals. However, he must say for Hunt, that 
whenever he came to Fulton he stayed to dinner, and took his 
port like any other Christian. 

Well — ah — fine open weather. The meet was at Fulton on 
Monday, would Mr. Smith join them at breakfast? 

He didn’t hunt ? Ah — but he might ride to the meet — would 
be very happy to see him; and Miss Fulton and the ladies would 
show him the old ruins afterward. 

Mr. Smith thought he might ride to the meet; and if he did, 
Urould certainly avail himself of the Admiral’s hospitality. 


MR. SMITH. e-a 

Fulton had next to indorse the invitation, wliieh her brother 
loudly informed her of. 

She did it cordially; and he felt that he had now, at least, 
thrown out one grappling-iron. The ruins would do for Mon- 
day; and though he had been rather staggered by the not hunt- 
ing, he was able presently to reflect that even that might turn 
out to his advantage. BrcHhers- in-law who don’t hunt can’t 
spend their money on luinters; and if there were no expensive 
taste to run away with the fortune, why, it was a thousand 
times the better. He would be able thus to indulge the few 
ruoderate desires of his dear Cornelia’s brother; and he could 
give Corny the hint whenever he wanted anything. Corny was 
a good soul, and, by George! it was time she had a husband; 
but he must take care how anything of that sort got to her ears. 

He knew better than to start her on her high horse. No, no; 
all he had to do was to get Smith to Fulton, and manage the 
business himself. 

As they departed, lie took care to say, “ See you on Monday, 
then ?” 

And Mr. Smith replied that he certainly hoped so. 

When Monday came, however, all had changed. The weather 
was no longer soft and gently dull; there was heavy rain, and 
no break in the clouds gave hope of anything better. It was 
not the sort of morning on which one cares to rise betimes, and 
ride eight miles to breakfast at another man’s house. It was not 
a day for ruins, or anything else. Miss Fulton must wait. 

He reflected that he was going out to dinner, and concluded to 
take his other meals at home. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE WOMAN WHO OUGHT NOT TO BECOME HIS WIFE. 

Although the Tolletons had made a great deal of their fam- 
ily bereavement as a reason for there being no dinner-party, it 
may be doubted whether, in any case, they would have been 
able to give one. As may have been gathered, they found some 
difficulty in collecting their neighbors when they wished to en- 
tertain. 

In asking Mr. Smith, it is true, they much preferred having 
him alone, or with the simple addition of Philip Wellvvood, 
with whom they stood on no ceremony. But when they had 
wanted to have a dinner-party — and they had been very desir- 
ous indeed of giving one a few months previously— for reasons 
which have no place here, they had had such difficulty in getting 
it up, that in the end it had collapsed altogether. 

The Fultons had made it clear they would not come. The 
Deanes, an easy-going father and mother, whose two sons cajoled 
or coerced them into a tolerable degree of intimacy at Fret^lands, 
were away from home. Mr. and Miss Gray had accepted, and 
drawn back, offering a very shilly-shally excuse. And Mrs. 
Rodney had a baby the day the invitation was sent her. There 
was nobody left but the Hunts. 

But the Hunts had been met so often at Freelands, by the 


64 MR. SMITH. 

people who were wanted for the dinner-party, that Helen had 
declared it was impossible they should be the only others present 
again. It would have an odd appearance. It could not be 
done. 

That party, accordingly, had fallen to the ground, and it 
would have been perilous to attempt another. 

“ I really don’t know that we could have managed one,” said 
Helen, “ unless we had got the Deanes. If they had come, and 
had had some people wiUi them, it might have done; but there 
is no one else just now. After all, poor grandmamma’s dying is 
not so very inopportune; it saves so much trouble.” 

“ And will really be far pleasanter,” said Lily, thinking of the 
dinner-party, though it sounded as if she meant a disrespectful 
allusion. ‘‘Come and make preparations now,” added she. 

When the preparations began, Corker knew at once that it was 
Miss Tolleton’s party. 

Helen never went into the kitchen on ordinary occasions, leav- 
ing the housekeeping department to Carry, who had a turn for 
it. On this day, however, she accompanied her sister, and took 
an interest in the bill of fare. She even engaged to find a special 
receipt for the cook, and did it. She wished the wild ducks 
dressed in a particular way. Men, she knew, loved wild duck. 

The gardener had next a visit. She chose the plants for the 
table herself; and then snipped off every available blossom in 
the greenhouse, before his angry eyes. The last bunch of grapes 
was ordered to be sent in; and when the young lady lamented 
so feelingly that there was not one of each color, Maclaren felt 
sure there was something in the wind. 

The sisters dressed the flower-glasses in company — that they • 
always did themselves; but Lily was surprised to see her sister 
lay aside several small and choice blossoms. 

“You can’t make them bouquets when they aren’t staying in 
the house,” said she. 

“They won’t find fault with them on that account, Lily.” 

“ But they will have them of their own.” 

“ So they will! I never recollected that. Well, but a thought 
strikes me; I shall make them, all the same.” 

Helen would not tell her thought. She laughed, and nodded, 
and said they must wait for it. The thought was, however, tliat 
if Mr. Smith should come with a fiower in his button-hole, she 
would show him the way to dispose of it. 

Lily stood by and watched her sister, and laughed at her. 

Helen was not making the correct old gentleman’s bouquet at 
all. The correct old gentleman’s bouquet was large and gorgeous 
— not particularly fragrant, and quickly strung together. But 
Helen had taken the last sprig of verbena, and the one small 
velvety geranium, for Mr. Smith; and Philip was to be put off 
with the rose. 

“ Philip will find it out, you may be sure,” said she. “ Here, 
let me make his. I daresay I could scrape together something 
better' than that out of the greenhouse. And you might have 
given him the heliotrope, when you know he is so fond of it. It’s 
lost on the drawing-room table. Give me the scissors.” 


MR. SMITH. 


65 


“It scents the room,” said her sister, handing a tbicK empty 
stalk, while her eyes were fixed on the tiny bunch she held in 
her left hand. 

“ Scissors,” said Lily, impatiently. “ I’ll see what I can do for 
him; but I think he might have that,” 

“ Well, if you cannot get anything else, you may take it. 
There now, what do you think ? That little bit of white makes 
it perfect. It’s too good for him.” 

“ Give it to Philip, then. He won’t appreciate it, and Philip 
would. Guardsmen always do. They know better about these 
things than any other men.” 

“ Indeed I sha’n’t,” said Helen, thinking in her heart that she 
had wasted too many bouquets on Philip already. “ I have made 
it for Mr. Smith, and he shall have it. And you are quite wrong 
about his not appreciating, Lily; I tell you what, I don’t believe 
anything escapes him.” , 

“ You said it was too good yourself.” 

“I was only laughing. I wouldn’t give him a poor thing for 
the world. One has a feeling that he has been accustomed to 
the best.” 

Lily looked at the scissors dubiously. “ Now, mind,” added 
her sister, with decision, “that you don’t take the heliotrope, 
unless you really and truly cannot get anything else. I am sure 
that rose would have done very well; a rose is a great rarity at 
this time of 3*ear.‘' 

“Not one like that,” said Lily, contemptuously. “A poor 
washed out China bud! I should be ashamed to offer it to him, 
and I don't believe he would wear it, either.” 

“ He would have to wear it.” 

“ Would he? I don’t believe Philip knows what it is to ‘ have.’ 
Certainly, he sometimes treats us rather cavalierly, don’t you 
think ? I daresay he is the same to every one.” 

One of Helen’s bitter sensations passed through her as Lily 
spoke. She felt sure that he was not the same to every one; 
tnat others too presumed upon — upon what? Was it upon their 
being motherless, unprotected girls, or upon anything about 
themselves which invited freedom ? It gave her a passing qualm, 
and her thoughts turned to Mr. Smith with a new satisfaction. 
She was resolved that he, at least, should never find her too 
familiar. 

When the two guests arrived, the ladies were all in the draw- 
ing-room, and Mr. Tolleton received them in the hall. 

The sisters were dressed alike, as usual; but as usual it was on 
the eldest chiefly that the dress was remarkable. She wore a 
white silk, short and plain in front, but flowing far behind; the 
open square showing her neck was edged with soft lace; and 
over the left shoulder was passed a black silk scarf, tied at the 
waist in a large bow. So far, all three were alike; but Miss Tol- 
leton had .seen when she was out several bunches of red arbutus 
berries, which she had plucked, and wu-eathed among her dark 
coils, instead of any other ornament. There were only two 
bunches ripe, and Helen took them loth; not meaning to be self- 
ish, but without a thought. 


66 


MR, SMITH. 


Lily had asked for one, and her sister had replied that in that 
case Carry alone must go without, and besides it needed both 
sprays to make up an effective bunch — one without the other 
would be poor. 

Lily saw the force of both arguments, and was resigned. 
She merely took note that it was a good idea, and resolved tore- 
membei- for another time how becoming it would be to herself. 

The moment the gentlemen entered the room, there was no 
doubt about their bouquets. 

Mr. Smith wore on his breast a small and very perfect pink 
and white streaked camellia; Captain Wellwood,'one equally, if 
not more beautiful, of the purest white. Helen’s first quick de- 
sire was that Mr. Smith’s should have been the whilte one. Then 
she wondered bow it had become Captain Well wood’s. 

This was soon explained. Mr. Smith had given it to him — had 
brought it in thecairiage and pinned it on himself. It was told 
while Helen was presenting her offerings, or rather saying how 
she had meant to present them, but now — cut short by Mr. 
Smith’s doing the very thing he ought, taking out his camellia, 
and begging her to wear it herself, while he replaced it by what 
she had made for him. If it had only been the white one! 

This example of gallantry, however, was not imitated. Philip 
observed that, as his blos-om was already a gift, he could not 
have the pleasure of asking any lady to wear it for him, but he 
should be m'ost happy to put in both; and, so saying, crushed 
the bouquet into the same button-hole. 

The girls began to admire the camellias, and as both came 
from one greenhouse, they were at liberty to compare them. 

The white one was clearly the favorite. Even their father was 
struck by it. He knew something of gardening, and his daugh- 
ters were pleased that he should shine in such a respectable 
taste. He had seldom seen such a, blossom, he must confess he 
wondered that Mr. Smith liked to cut it. Mr. Smith owned that 
liis gardener, at least, had not liked cutting it. He had grum- 
bled at defrauding a tree so early in the season, and Mnted 
at rumors of a camellia show; but his master had pacified him 
outwardly with promises that if a show really took place, he 
should be allowed to contribute. “ Provided;” added Mr. Smith, 
“ he did not stint me till the thing was really announced.” He 
believed, however, that the man was in his heart by no means 
satisfied. Gardeners never were. 

Then dinner was announced. It was rather a blow to Lily 
that, being the youngest, she was obliged to put up with her 
fathers arm, and sit opposite Captain Well wood. Now that 
Helen had openh' discarded him, she felt persuaded that Philip 
would turn to her — if, indeed, he had not done so already. 

But, in truth, Philip had never turned to her less. 

Up to the present time he had, perhaps, if he had thought 
about it at all, preferred her to Carry. She was equally well- 
looking, and lutae amusing in her banter. Carry, placed in any 
other family, would liave been a dull, quiet girl, put down as 
sensible, an«l admired for her reticence; but as it was, she imit- 


MR. SMITH. 


67 


tated her sisters, and chatted and flirted as well as she was able. 
She had all of their folly with none of their wit. 

Philip had been accustomed to amuse himself with Lily in a 
more easy and familiar manner than Helen liked, but he had 
almost ignored Carry. 

On the last occasion, however, when he had been in their 
company, Lily had been fast going down in his estimation. 
There was a satisfaction in her glances at Helen; a mounting 
guard over her and Mr. Smith; an air of warning off -Carry; 
and of keeping herself and every one else out of the way, which 
was very offensive. 

Helen might choose to marry Mr. Smith, and, if she did, 
nobody need object; but she was surely able to carry for wi rd 
the business herself, and guide him safely through its various 
intricacies up to the proposal point, without any need of her 
sisters acting spy, scout, and sentinel all at once. 

If he spoke to Helen, Helen answered pleasantly enough, but 
Lily’s eye was upon him, If he moved, she was at his side. He 
could not shake her off. He began positively to hate her. 

Carry was now by many degrees the higher of the two in his 
estimation. She at least did ngt sanction the other arrange- 
ments. She ate her dinner almost in silence, and, when spoken 
to. answered as if she desired to l>e let alone. When let alone, 
Philip was certain that she was listening to the conversation at 
the head of the table. That Lily, between whiles, was doing 
the same, he felt likewise convinced, but there was a wide dif- 
ference between the sisters’ listening, 

Lily listened as if she liked it, as if she were inwardly con- 
gratulating herself upon it, and building uf) all sorts of future 
possibilities from it; Carry, with a sort of sulky determination 
not only to hear as much as she could herself, but by forcing 
others to do the same, prevent anything being said that could 
not be made pMblic. 

The sisters had instructed their father to be as cheerful and 
chatty, and make as much noise as he possibly could; but it is 
rather a difficult thing to make a noise all by yourself, and so 
the poor gentleman found it. He did his best. He addressed a 
joke to Captain Wellwood, and Philip regarded him with mild 
inquiry; he spoke to Carry, and she let fall the subject so quickly 
that he felt quite cross with her. Lily herself, from whom he 
had received his instructions, talked and laughed spasmodic- 
ally; pinched his feet under the table to make him go on, when 
he had positively come to the very last dregs of wlnit he had 
to say; put nonsensical questions in a loud, vacant voice; and 
altogether disconcerted instead of helping him. 

At length the silence among the other four became of such 
long duration, that Helen was obliged to turn to her left-hand 
neighbor. Mr. Smith at the same time began a general con- 
versation on the topic of the day, and soon they were all talking 
together. 

Still Philip felt that Lily’s eye was upon him, and that she 
would have prevented his speaking w ith her sister if she could. 
In the evening it was the same in 1 it occurred to him that if 


68 


MR. SMITH. 


this were to be always the way, he should not care to take ad- 
vantage of Lord Sauffrenden’s offer of facilities for going to the 
Ts during his Christmas visit at the Castle, as much as he might 
have done once. 

Helen sang in her slow, speaking voice, ballads, not over well 
sung, perhaps, but almost too full of force and meaning. Ballads 
about love, and hope, and despair, and other things that girls do 
not usually sing about. Sometimes she almost whispered, and 
let her eyes express what she meant to say; sometimes she threw 
out the words with fire. What was she dreaming of? Did she 
think to win him thus ? Did she really fancy sl)e could make 
this common, comfortable, middle-aged, prosaic man imagine 
that hope and love, or even that blessed despair which is the 
heritage of true adoration, were for him? It was too absurd, 
too daring an idea. Yet there were no bounds to her ridiculous 
vanity, and perchance his credulity might equal it. 

The mocking smile was still on Philip’s lip, when a voice at 
his elbow made him draw back as if an obnoxious reptile had 
touched him. “ Captain Wellwood, do come and let us have a 
game of four bezique.” 

“ It is a game I never play, thanks.” 

“ I am sure you do; you must have played it here. Not that 
we care very much for it either. There are some games much 
better fun. What do you like ?” 

“Oh, don’t wait for me; you can have three bezique, you 
know. I like music better.” 

Nothing more could be said. If a man ha<=! the courage to say 
boldh' he likes one thing, it is impossible to urge him to the 
other, especiallv when there is no scapegoat who can be cited as 
the one to be obliged. Lily could not say “ to please Carry,” or 
even “to please papa,” least of all “to please me.” She w^as 
obliged to retire, and hhle her mortification as best she might. 

If people liked Helen’s singing, it generally meant that they 
liked Helen. But what detained Philip *was not Helen; it was 
simply the rare entertainment he found in watching her. He 
meant to stay, whether she liked him to be there or not. 

It did not appear, however, as if Helen objeeted. She smiled 
on them both, united them in what she said between the songs, 
and listened with equally good grace to the compliments of 
either. 

This went on most of the evening, and at last Philip thought 
he had had enough. She was quiet now, and more like her 
everyday self; he would allow her to play out her game. As 
she brought a little homely German air to a close, he moved 
away. 

Mr. Smith stayed where he was. He could not help con- 
trasting his evening in this fascinating house with the dull din- 
ner-party at Sauffrenden. True, had he minutely inquired of 
himself, he must have owned that he was not enamored of the 
society of Mr. Tolleton, and with the younger sisters he had not 
exchanged half a dozen words. But if in Helen lay the charm, 
it was diffused on all around her She cast a glamour in tlie eyes 


MR. SMITH. 69 

of thosp who looked, and they could not tell from whence it 
came. 

Helen, in her white silk, with the arbutus berries in her hair, 
was quite as beautiful as in her plumy hat. It occurred to him 
that none of the ladies at Sauffrenden had worn natural flowers. 
He wondered still more that her own sisters, with such an ex- 
ample of taste before them, could select stiff artificial rosebuds. 
Thus we observe blindly. It never struck him that it might 
have been from necessity, not choice. 

“ I hope you take advantage of my path sometimes,” said he, 
some time after Philip had gone. 

“ I did not know that we might.” 

“Indeed! I thought I told your sister so; but perhaps it was 
Miss Hunt. One of the young ladies said she had been obliged 
to take the long round by the highroad, and I felt so sorry that 
she should think of doing such a thing. I rather think I remem- 
ber that it was Miss Hunt, but I hope that you will all make 
use of it, whenever it is convenient.” 

“ Thank you; we shall be only too glad. It cuts off nearly a 
mile of the way to the village, and makes such a much pleas- 
anter walk besides. Those beautiful woods were so lovely last 
spring, that we were tempted to trespass sometimes, — there be- 
ing no one there, you know. Oh, I wanted to ask, Mr. Smith, — 
are you going to have a summer-house at the view ?” 

“The view? I really don’t know.” 

“ Where the broken-down seat is, you know, where the long 
path comes out from the woods.” 

“ I have never been there. Miss Tolleton, and had no idea that 
such a place existed.” 

“ I wish I could describe it to you; it used to be my favorite 
walk in old times. Let me see; we go through the plantation— 
our plantation — first, climb over the stile, and strike int« the 
wood path.” 

“ Yes, and it leads into the avenue.” 

“ Ah, but just where it joins the avenue, another little foot- 
path turns to the left, and goes up the hill among the woods, a 
long, long way, before it comes out at the view.” 

“ Really I had never noticed it.” 

“ That must be because of the dead leaves. Unless you know 
it is there, it is probably so covered up just now, you would never 
find it.” 

“You say it is a favorite walk; will you and your sister show 
it me some day ?” 

“Yes, certainly, we shall be delighted. And then you will 
put up a summer-house at the view, won’t you? It would be 
such a delightful place for a summer-house, and the old tumble- 
down seat must be quite rotten by this time. I wonder you had 
never heard of the view; we think so much of it in these parts. 
There are four counties to be seen, and the cathedral tower, and 
it is supposed the smoke of London, when the wind is in the 
east, but that I doubt. However, you won’t mind if that fails.” 

“I am quite curious to see the place. As for the summer- 
house, all you have to do is to name the spot, and a summer- 


70 MR. SMITH 

house there shall be. Aud come as soon as you will ; it shall be 
begun the next day.” 

“ To-morrow, then ?” said she, with sparkling eyes. 

“To-morrow, if you please. And what hour?” 

“ Is twelve too early? We have an engagement in the after- 
noon.” 

“Twelve will suit me admirably. It is the best time of the 
day for walking. I shall be at the stile at twelve.” 

Then there was a pause while each was thinking about the sis- 
ters. 

Helen was wondering whether they really must go, whether 
they were expected, or whether she might not leave them be- 
hind. She would rather have been without them. She liked 
having Mr. Smith best by herself., She almost felt that if they 
went, It would spoil her walk altogether. 

But still , if they were expected, there was no help for it — go 
they must; unless, indeed, she could invent apologies at the 
time. After a few minutes’ reflection, she decided to have it so. 
She would not say a word about the expedition to any one, and 
if, when they met the next day, Mr. Smith inquired after her 
sisters, she would have their excuses ready. After the walk ivas 
over, it would be time enough to tell them of it. 

Mr. Smith in his own mind had a passing struggle likewise. 

When he first proposed the party, he certainly intended it to 
include all three. It was something in Helen’s manner, noth- 
ing in her words, which conveyed the idea to his mind that she 
possibly meant to give him her company alone. He could not 
but own he would prefer this, although it was perhaps a pre- 
sumptuous desire. Fortunately it did not rest with him, and 
be was able to close the compact cheerfully, content to wait for 
its fulfillment. 

After this they joined the others. 

Lily had grown quite boisterous in her laughter and nonsen- 
sical questions, plaguing and perplexing her father more than 
ever. Philip had quite deserted her; Carry had made' some 
surly attempts at civility toward him, and they sat side by side, 
apart from the rest, yet apparently not caring to be together — 
like a couple of arch conspirators who, suspecting and distrust- 
ing each other, are bound by no ties of mutual regard, but 
merely by a common purpose. 

Helen sat down on the sofa by her father, and Mr. Smith took 
a chair opposite. Mr. Tolleton’s spirits revived, and Lily was 
subdued. Now and then she glanced at Captain Well wood, but 
he and Carry still sat in their gloomy corner, gloomily convers- 
ing. 

She was enraged with Philip. Her boisterous spirits were an 
attempt to conceal her mortification. She had reckoned upon 
the reversion of him. When he had shown distinctly that he 
was not in love with her sister, she had taken it for granted that 
he would, if not exactly fall in love, at least be on very friendly 
terms with her. Then Philip had shown he did not care to take 
this position. At least, he liked them all equally. It was not 


MR. '^MTTH. 71 

until this evening that she ^oiind out that, openly neglected by 
Helen, he nevertheless preferred her. 

Tliis was hard to be I jrne. If Helen had monopolized him, 
and he had sworn even an unmeaning allegiance, it would have 
been quite the natural order of things in that house; but that, 
without the power of making him adore her, she should still have 
sufficient to make him prefer her, was more than her sister’s 
fortitude could bear. 

She was not angry with Helen, reserving her wrath for Philip. 
Helen was doing very well, and she only felt a slight increase of 
desire to see her fairly transformed into Mrs. Smith. But she 
longed to vex Philip. And it somehow took possession of her 
mind, that the louder she laughed and talked with her father, 
and the longer she left the other two alone by the piano, the bet- 
ter she could accomplish this end. 

When Helen drew near to the fire, she expected to see Philip 
come forward also. Philip, however, remained where he was 
until the carriage was announced, and slie felt faintly surprised. 
She concluded her judgment had been hasty. The case was not 
desperate. 

A minute after the carriage was announced, Helen wandered 
off to the piano again, and began to put up her music. If Mr. 
Smith had anything to say to her when he bade good-bye, he 
might have an opportunity of doing so without witnesses. Mr. 
Smith had a word to say, and though unconscious of its being 
so, it may be questioned whethe ’ he would have been able to say 
it, had they not been out of ears. ot. 

“ Twelve o’clock to-moiTow?” 

“Ye-.” 

They shook hands, and he passed on. Captain Wellwood did 
the same, with simjdy “good-night;” and the door closed be- 
hind him. 

Helen finished putting up her music, closed the instrument, 
and came up to the others. “ Well, I hope you've had a pleasant 
evening, Nelly,” said her youngest sister, with a yawn. She 
did not speak crossly, and if her own evening had been pleas- 
ant, would assuredl}’ not have yawned; but how soon we 
grow weary when we are not enjoying ourselves! Helen was 
not in the Teast tired, and owned that she had had a very pleas- 
ant evening. 

“ But you have nothing to tell us about it ? I am sure you 
might have enough; for you and Mr. Smith were all in all to 
each other, and spoke to no one else all night.” 

“ Oh yes, we were great friends, but I am afraid there is 
nothing more to say. Our conversation would scarcely bear 
repetition.” 

“ Now, Nelly, you know what I mean. Why can you not tell 
me outright? Is it to be or not to be, — that is the question.” 

“ Oh, to be, to be, of course. All in good time,” said Helen, 
playfully. “Don’t be alarmed, and don't be in too great a 
iiurry. We have only seen each other two or three times ” 

“ Quite enough too! What should you want more? He can 
see that you're handsome, and I should think you have had 


72 


3JK SMITH. 


quite as much as you care for of his courting. Take my word 
for it, Nelly, the more he sees you the less he’ll like you.” Do 
what she would, Lily could not bring herself to speak good- 
temperedly. 

Helen's eyebrows came together. “ How stupid you are.” 

She felt that nothing would induce her now to tell Lily about 
the walk. Her coarse allusion to the courting, and the half- 
jesting, half- spiteful remark which followed it, decided her. As 
much as she cared for of his courting! Why, the courting had 
never begun. She felt persuaded that he bad as yet no idea of 
such a thing. How long he would remain in such happy in- 
nocence, was another matter. Vanity whispered not long, and 
its flattering, buoyant visions made her soon break out again 
into her complacent smile. 

My dear child, you are too childish. Don’t let your feelings 
run away with you so. I must tell you distinctly, and once for 
all, that whatever may come of this — and to comfort you, some- 
thing I do expect may come of it, though not yet: — I say he has 
never yet thought of me in the way you mean.” 

“ Never thought of you!” She was accustomed to such very 
quick measures, when Helen was in the case. It was too disap- 
pointing. 

“Well I'm sure I did my best for you all to night,” said their 
father coming in, and yawning vehemently. “Heigh ho! Ho! 
ho! ho! My throat quite aches with talking. Mr. Smith must 
think me a great fool, if I go on like that always.” 

“Poor papa!” said Helen, still complacent.' “You did talk 
tremendously liard. I thought you were enjoying yourself.” 

“ So I was, my dear, I’m sure, if you were. Wei.? You and 
Smith seemed great friends, eh ?” 

“ I like him very much indeed, papa; and I think he likes me 
too.” This was to reward them all. 

“But she says he is never thinking about her,” ejaculated 
Lily, who had no scruples about saying in plain terms what 
Helen would have merely insinuated. 

“Well, well, time enough,” replied Mr. Tolleton, glancing at 
Helen, whose forehead had again drawn together. 

“ What should be be thinking of her for ? I daresay he thinks 
she’s a spoilt monkey, and so she is. Where is Carry? Gone to 
bed? I’ll go too. Tell me when you want him here again, 
Nelly, and I’ll get him for you. He will be ready enough to 
come when I ask him, I daresay.” 

Helen thought he would. She did not want him asked, how- 
ever; she had other ways of working. She meant to have her 
walk on the morrow, but she meant to have it without the 
knowledge of her family. With this resolve fixed, she went to 
sleep, and nothing occurred in the morning to unsettle it. 


MR. SiMTTIL 


r6 


CHAPTER X. 

THE WALK TO THE VIEW. 

With the rapidity peculiar to November, the weather had 
again changed, and that morning was soft and balmy, with 
abundance of sunshine. 

Helen rose in high spirits. She had arranged in her own 
mind the night before, how Lily was to be disposed of; and as 
Carry seldom cared to go out in the mornings, nothing was to 
be apprehended from her. 

Accordingly Miss Tolleton complained of headache and the 
unseasonable warmth of the day. It was oppressive. She could 
not stay within doors — was restless and fidgety, and soon strolled 
out into the garden. By and by she returned from the green- 
house, bringing with her some foreign leaves 'which Lily had 
talked of painting. 

“ Look, Lily, I have brought these in for you. Do you want 
them ?” 

“ I did not want them to-day,” replied Lily, looking at the 
leaves ungraciously. “ I am not in the mood for drawing. 
Why did you not ask me beforehand ? I shall have to do them 
now.” 

“ Oh, no, they can be put in water. Let them wait till to- 
morrow, and they will be quite as nice. I thought you would be 
glad to have them — that was all. You said so the other day.” 

“Well, thank you, but I wish you hadn’t. However, they 
won’t keep fresli, of course; that flabby kind never does, so I 
must do them at once.” And she languidly went for her color- 
box. 

Helen put the leaves in w^ater, and took off her hat. 

“ What did you put on your best hat for the garden for?” in- 
quired her sister, suddenly. “ No one is coming, is there?” 

“ Not that I know of, but I cannot find my old one. I thought 
you or Carry had got it. Where can it be, then ? Carry, have 
you seen my old hat anywhere?” 

Carry had not. “ Where can it be?” repeated Helen, making 
a fuss. “I made sure one or other of you had it. What can 
have become of it ?” 

“ Very likely you left it in the greenhouse yesterday, when you 
were getting the flowers,” said Lily. 

“ I don’t believe I did. I don’t think I had it on. It must be 
somewhere in my room.” 

Whereupon she went to her room. The hat was there, as she 
knew perfectly, but she did not like herself in it. Twice she had 
tried it on, to avoid observation, but it would not do. It was low 
in the crown, and unbecoming. Its shabbiness was no objection. 
She put on her shabbiest and roughest old jacket, but her plumy 
hat and a clean necktie she must have. Accordingly she had put 
these on when she went to the garden, and now returned from . 
lier room without change. It was very provoking, but she could 
not And her straw, and with several complaints she sat down and 
took up a book. 


MR. SMITH. 


n 


It was twenty minutes to twelve, but a quarter of an hour 
would take her to the stile. 

“ I can’t read,” said she, throwing down the volume at the end 
of five minutes. “ Come out for a walk, Lily.” 

“ How can I, with these leaves to copy ? I should much rather 
have gone out,” said poor Lily, who was really feeling flat and 
headachy, and saw herself ruthlessly pinned to the house for 
some hours. “ If you had only asked me before you cut them!” 

“ Oh, you have done enough for to-day. Leave them till to- 
morrow to finish. Come. ” 

“You don’t know anything about it. As if I could! They 
would be quite spoilt. I would not leave them now for the 
world.” 

This was as Helen had foreseen. She came and looked. Lily 
was getting interested, in spite of her disinclination for the job. 
She was succeeding, and that was enough. Everything else was 
now secondary, 

“ That part is well done,” said Helen, “ when you have round- 
ed the edge a little more, I suppose it is not finished ?” 

“ Finished! Of course not. There’s a great deal of work in it 
yet.” 

“ I must wait before I judge, then. Dear me! Will you come 
out in the afternoon ?” 

“ Yes, for the light won’t be good then. Can’t you go by 
yourself now? You disturb me jumping up and down, and 
I don’t like people looking over my shoulder. Go and thiiik of 
Mr. Smith.” 

Thus the way was cleared, and the scene properly prepared 
for, Lily’s own hand drawing up the curtain. 

Helen set out, slowly sauntering past the windows, then com- 
ing back to say in a laughing whisper that she was going to take 
the short cut, and as soon as she was out of sight, in the planta- 
tion, quickened her step to a brisk pace. 

She no longer found the air oppressive. She was glowing 
with health and good-humor when she came up to Mr. Smith at 
the stile. 

It was not quite twelve, but Mr. Smith had been waiting there 
some minutes. His first glance ascertained that she was alone, 
and his spirits rose, Not a word was said by either about ^the 
sisters, and as their hands and eyes met, Helen saw all was 
right. Either he had not expected them, or he did not wish for 
them; whichever it was, it was plain that he had no misgivings, 
he had trusted the matter entirely in her hands. Every draw- 
back was now removed, and the thing was to get away into the 
wood-path as quickly as possible. 

He had already discovered the path, and wondered liowit had 
hitherto escaped his observation. 

They began to climb, rustling through the dead leaves of the 
bank, and walking as fast as a good deal of hinderance, in the 
• shape of wet and slippery ground, would permit, until a tolera- 
bly large-sized hillock was put between them and any chance 
observer on the road. 

Then the pace slackened, and talking began. 


MR. SMITH. 


75 


Mr. Smith spoke of tlie alterations and improvements he had 
been that morning superintending, and in which his companion 
showed a ready interest. She at once comprehended hissatisfac“ 
tion in pulling clown uninhabitable cottages, and putting up in 
their place good solidly-built commodious ones. Her sympathy 
was called forth by his accounts of the discomforts, the positive 
degradations he had found his tenants enduring. She entered 
into his plans, his schemes, as if she had been a part of himself. 
He found himself talking to her as if they had a joint interest 
in the welfare of these people. In explaining his projects, he 
had nearly spoken of what “ we ” must do. Such curious simi- 
larity of tastes must be his apology. She really seemed as if all 
that he was about to do had been in her heart likewise. It was 
the most delightful encouragement. 

“ Mr. Rodney tells me,” said he, warming, “ that the people 
here are a warm-hearted, affectionate, grateful set. They are 
naturally disinclined to trust an utter strange^, but I expect we 
shall get on capitally by and by. I mean to get to know them 
personally, and that is only done by living among them. It 
seems to me both foolish and absolutely wrong to be responsible, 
in a great measure, for the welfare of one’s fellow-creatures, 
and, to save trouble, leave it in the hands of agents who, as often 
as not, are unprincipled, and regardless of an^- thing but making 
the most mouey they can out of them. I propose being as much 
as possible my own bailiff. At all events, my bailiff shall have 
no authority but what he gets from me.” 

To this she fissented with an eagerness of approbation that 
made it plain these had long been her own sentiments. 

“ And going about among them one sees things as they really 
are — at least as far as can be seen,” he went on. “They are 
not put before you in one light or another, they are just plain 
facts, about which you must use your own judgment, under the 
Divine direction, and then, come what may, you have done your 
duty.” 

Yes, certainly, and that was all that was required of one, act- 
ing for the best; but the “ Divine direction ” rather startled her. 
He must be a religious man. She was not sure that she was 
quite prepared for that. Still it was a blessing he was not a 
dissenter. If — if anything came of it, she would be allowed to 
make her deep courtesy in church all the same. 

“ I think,” said he next, “ I must get Lord Sauffrenden to give 
me a few hints about the drainage. His land, 1 am told, is by 
far the best drained of any in the county. He has been doing it 
lately on some new system.” 

This was far better. Lord Sauffrenden and[ drainage were 
more in accordance with her views than Mr. Rodney and cot- 
tages. She could not indeed appear to be at home in this mat- 
ter, but that was not needed. She could question, and be in- 
structed, and show sympathy. And then she could draw hinr 
on to speak about the house. The house was all very well, but 
the absence of an approach on the south side was an inconven- 
ience. He was meditating opening up one through the woods; 


76 


MR, SMITH, 


tie had his eye cn a family who were the very people to put into 
a lodge. He meant to have a couple of new lodges. 

She could not do more than listen to this. She could hardly 
as yet show approval of new lodges. They had it however. 
Several fine views of the house were obtained from the path, 
and at each one she felt increasingly better inclined to be the 
mistress of it. 

]\Ir. Smith in his turn was charmed with the wood-path. It 
led through by far the most beautiful part of the grounds. He 
must have it attended to, not spoiled by being made too trim, 
but clear of rubbish, and gi’aveled. 

The gravel was suggested by frequent difficulties. There 
were places so soft from recent rain that they were only to be 
crossed by scrambling up the bank, and holding on by the 
bushes. 

Helen appeared to her usual advantage here. She disdained 
assistance, stepped hither and thither, held back the branches 
for him, found her own way, and jumped the bank to admira- 
tion. 

“ There is another bad part in front, I am afraid,” said he, 
when they had just struggled on to firm ground again. “ I am 
afraid. Miss Tolleton. we shall have to go up the side again.” 

“ Not if the stepping-stones are there still. Look, it is all 
right, there they are, and they go right through the worst.” 

She sprang from one to another, he following less nimbly. 

“ Now that is the last of them, and it is quite dry the rest of 
the way. All the water runs down here from the heights, you 
see. There are no more bad places.” 

“ You seem to know the way well ?” 

“ I used to come here often alone.” 

“ I wish I had been here then.” 

“ In that case perhaps I should not have come.” 

“You certainly would not have come alone.” 

“ Would you have come with me, Mr. Smith?” 

“ If you would have allowed me. Miss Tolleton.” 

They were laughing into each other’s faces. The charm was 
beginning to work. 

“Oh, what fems!” cried she next, “what beautiful ferasi I 
must have some of those ferns, please.” 

Of course he liked cutting them, she standing by his side, re- 
ceiving them as they were gathered. Then he wanted to give 
her more than her hands would hold. . Then she was saucy, and 
threw away some which she declared he had spoilt. They were 
beautiful ones, but he had been very careless, and had not cut 
them properly, and he must do it better another time. They 
took up a root together. Then they agreed it was not worth 
carrying home. Then she said it was he who had said so, and he 
affirmed he was sure she thought it. 

A great deal of time passed, and still they had not get to the 
view. Mr Smith had almost forgotten what he had been 
brought there to see. It took him unawares, and he was sur- 
prised into great admiration and delight. 

For some time the little path had been getting steeper and 


MR. SMITH, 


77 


steeper, but there had been no signs of an opening in the woods, 
suddenly it emerged on a small plateau, evidently cleared by 
art; and it appeared this was the end. 

On every side it was surrounded by trees. Beneath were cliffs 
so perpendicular as to form a dangerous precipice, terminating 
as they did in a bushy incline, at the bottom of which rolled the 
river. 

Beyond the river were lanes, fields, and hedgerows; dotted 
here and there with red-tiled farmhouses half-hidden by ivy, the 
growth of years, and nestling in their ample stackyards. 

In the distance the blue smoke of a town with its cathedral 
tower, could dimly be discerned against the sky. 

Helen turned to her companion with a sense of proud proprie- 
torship. What do you think of it ? Have I exaggerated ?” 

“Indeed no, it is all that you promised me. It is beautiful, 
perfectly beautiful, a true English landscape with all its best 
suggestions. How sliall I thank you for the pleasure this has 
given me? But for you, who knows how long I might have re- 
mained in ignorance that such a spot existed ?” 

“ And look, that is all they have done for it!” said she, point- 
ing to the rude bench which had fallen to the ground on one 
side, and was. evidently in the last stage of decay. 

“One had almost better make a seat of the rocks,” sitting 
down as she spoke. 

“There shall be a summer-house,” said Mr. Smith, looking 
round, “ where that seat is now. It will be a pleasure to me to 
design it myself. Anything that you can suggest, you may de- 
pend on seeing carried out.” 

Helen felt her triumph. It was not on the words, however, 
that she placed dependence. “ Words really mean very little,” 
was her private judgment. “ it is the look and the manner which 
mean everything.” Mr. Smith's look and manner were ani- 
mated, and she felt sure she was gaining ground. 

He sat down on the rocks beside her and they exhausted the 
subject of the summer-house. Helen then entered on a topic 
she had earnestly desired to open the evening before, but durst 
not, lest the unguarded speeches of her father or sisters might 
show what she desired to conceal. She wished to hear about 
Sauffrenden. 

“ You have not told me anything about your dinner-party on 
Friday,” she began, “ and in our quiet neighborhood we like to 
know everything about everybody.” 

“ It was a very dull dinner-party.” 

“Well, but that says nothing; you must tell me who were 
there, and all about it, and then I can estimate the dullness.” 

“The Rector was there, and Miss Gray. Admiral and Miss 
Fulton. And an old Lady Wranch or Wrench, an aunt of Lord 
Sauffrenden’s, I believe; and several others I did not know.” 

“ Why, I think you were pretty well off. The Fultons are 
pleasant people,” 

“ I had never met them before; but they seem so, certainly.” 

“And who had you to take in to dinner, if it is a fair ques- 
tion?” 


78 


MR. SMITH, 


“ I had Miss Fulton.” 

“Then, Mr. Smith, you were well off. She is a most amusing 
and agreeable companion. Do you not think so?” 

“ Amusing, certainly.” 

“ And agreeable ? Every one thinks her agreeable.” 

“ Yes, agreeable in a certain degree. But perhaps she is almost 
too agreeable to be completely so. If you know what I mean, 
though it is invidious to point out such a defect, she has rather 
too much agreeability.” 

“ You are severe. Can a woman be too agreeable?” 

“ Certainly not, but she can try to be so too much.” 

“ And is that all poor Miss Fulton's crime ?” 

“Yes, that is all. I liked what I saw of Miss Fulton very 
much; but, if I must say so, she talks too fast and too loud; and, 
may I dare to add, too much?” 

“Oh, Mr. Smith!” 

She was not quite certain what to say. She had no idea he 
would prove so particular. 

“Too much^” said she, thoughtfully; “I wonder if I do.” 
From the bottom of her heart the w’ords came; she was no more 
coquetting than if she had been in her own room alone. 

The answer was as quick as thought. “ You ? No, indeed.” 

She blushed crimson. How provoking that she should have 
appeared to be seeking this! As if she had deigned to angle for 
a compliment! Appealed for flattery which could not but be 
paid. It was too stupid of her. And he had said it so earnestly, 
so emphatically, that he must have thought it was what she 
wanted. She spmng from her seat, vexation on her brow. 

He rose also, surprised at the sudden cloud. “ You are not 
angry with me. Miss Tolleton ?” Angry ? Her bright smile shone 
out again, “ You! A'o, indeed-,^* All was right. 

There was more dallying on the way home, more difficulties 
in getting over the muddy places. More holding on by the 
branches. 

The chit-chat began again, and all too soon the stile came in 
view. 

Simultaneously they looked to see if the road were free. It 
was quite free, although Maria and Clare Hunt had traversed it 
backward and forward several times in the interval in hopes of 
meeting Captain Wellwood. Mr. Smith helped his companion 
over the stile, and they paused to say good-bye. 

Helen put the ferns into her left hand. “Next time,” said 
he, taking her right, “ that you and I come here together, I hope 
it will be to inspect the new summer-house.” Not much in the 
wmrds, but they were .suggestive. 

“And now,” .said Helen to herself, as she walked swuftly 
through the plantation, “how much and how little of this shall 
I give them the benefit of? If I told the whole, Lily would be 
ridiculous. She must never know it was arranged beforehand, 
and I must he careful how I show that 1 really think he is 
touched. So then, w^e met accidentally, and walked together; 
shall I say where? Yes, for it will come out about the summer- 


MR. SMITH. 79 

house. Whatever I tell her, however, she must be made to 
hold her tongue about.” 

Then she fell to musing on what had passed. His ^vo^ds, his 
looks, were dwelt upon, and weighed in the balance. How 
much meaning could she safely attach to them? How far 
could she calculate upon him ? That he admired her, was in- 
terested in her up to a certain point, she felt certain ; but was 
the amount sufficient to bring him to her feet? Not yet. The 
result of her meditations was this — not yet. 

Lund Cvm w’^as over, and the sisters eagerly speculating on the 
chances of Helen’s luck having again throwui Mr. Smith in her 
way. It was two o’clock when she entered the house. She had 
no idea it w^as so late, and, smiling, bade them wait for her ad- 
ventures until she had satisfied her appetite. 

“ Adventures! Then you had adventures?” cried Lily. “ Here 
is your chop; we put it to the fire at once, so it is only tepid; 
and the potatoes are on the bar. What adventures ? I do be- 
lieve it was Mr. Smith!” 

“ And here is your porter,” said Carry. “ T didn’t pour it out, 
in case you would rather have something else for your headache. 
If you would, ITl finish the porter myself.” 

Let us ring for another bottle, Carry,” said Lily. “ I’ll share 
it with you, for my back aches with sitting so long at those 
leaves. They are a great success though, Helen. But now, 
what adventures ? Do begin. You can talk and eat too.” 

“ No, I can’t;” teasing a little was w’hat Helen enjoyed. “ But 
I shall be ready directly. I met somebody, Lily.” 

“ I know you did! Mr. Smith! Another small bottle of porter, 
please ” (to Corker). 

“I do wish you would take more care before the servants,” 
frowned h<3r sister. “ Corker must have heard.” 

“No, nonsense. And what if he did? He may hear me say 
it a hundred times if he likes. Mr. Smith! Mr. Smith! Mr. 
Smith! There now, Nelly; if you won’t tell me I’ll tell myself. 
Now you had better begin, or I shall inform him outright. Here 
he comes.” 

She restrained herself, however, whilst the porter was being 
poured out, and as she had done so, Helen began as soon as they 
were again alone. 

“ Well, if you will be quiet, I’ll tell you. Yes, it was Mr. 
Smith — (I knew it!) And I have been with him for the last two 
hours!” 

The effect of this announcement was rapture. “ Oh, you dear 
good creature, then you really are! Oh, what fun! What 
would Mrs. Hunt say ? You sly thing, why did you not tell us 
before? And now for the how, when, and where.” 

“ At the stile, in the short cut. You told me to go and think 
of him, you know, so it was that which conjured him up.” 

“But what was hp doing there?” 

“ Waiting for me, apparently. At least, it seemed as if he had 
nothing else to do, for he was at my service directly.” 

There is no blind like the truth spoken in jest. Lily was taken 
in at once. 


80 


MR, SMITH. 


‘^Welir 

“Then we set off together, but you will never guess where.” 

“To the house?” 

“The house! What can you be thinking of ? A.s if I could 
have gone to the house!” 

“Why not? I thought, of course, it was there,” in a disap- 
pointed tone. “ There is no other particular place to go to. I 
thought he had been showing you over the house.” 

“ And you thought I would have gone? Lily, you really are 
too absurd. I told you not to go on so fast, and you go faster 
and faster. I wonder, instead of thinking I had been to the 
house, you did not imagine I had been to the church! You seem 
to expect that to be the next thing.” 

“It will come to that,” said Lily, readily. “But where did 
you go to, then ?” 

“ To the view.” 

“ The view ?” 

“ Yes. Was that not a particular place ?” 

“And what did you talk about?” inquired Carry, opening her 
lips for the first time since Mr. Smitli’s name had been men- 
tioned, but stiU relenting toward the subject, since it became 
plain the thing was to be. 

“All sorts of things. Improvements, cottages, Mr. Rodney, 
drainage, and dirt.” 

“You talked of those?” said Lily, incredulously. 

“Indeed I did, and talked beautifully; but as they don’t suit 
your carnal mind, perhaps it will pl(!ase you better to hear that 
we also talked of Lord Sauffrenden, and of two new lodges, and 
an approach through the woods.” 

“Very good; but that is not what I want to hear about, all the 
same.” 

“ Do you want to hear about the summer-house?” 

“ What summer-house ?” 

“A summer-house at the view^. There, you will like that; 
and when the summer-house is there, he shall give us some fun 
at it.” 

Lily looked-nt her sister shrewdly. “ Was it to please you?” 

“ Well, yes, in a way. To please himself, too. And the path 
is to be graveled, which will be a great improvement. I never 
saw it so bad as it w^as to-day.” 

“ And when is it to be done; not till summer, I suppose?” 

“ It is to be begun to-morrow.” 

“Then, Helen, he is thinking of you.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

AN OLD FRIEND IS A YOUNG MAN. 

After all this, it was really too delightful when Mrs. Hunt 
bridled and looked mysterious, saying that if it was either, it 
was Maria. 

We have now come up to the point when she paid her after- 
noon visit at Freelands, and fell a prey to the girls’ loVe of fun 
and ridicule. Lily only concealed her enjoyment by leaving 


MR. SMITH. 81 

the room, and even Helen, demurely as she sat at her visitor’s 
feet, was obliged to cast down her eyes. 

Mrs. Hunt had untied her bonnet strings, and taken off her 
shawl, and altogether behaved on her visit in a more friendly 
way than she had ever done before at the Tolletons. She had 
called the day after their little entertainment, on purpose to let 
them know that Mr. Smith had been there. It was a week after 
the Tolletons’ own dinner- painty, and her third essay to secure 
him had had the luck usually assigned to that number. 

Neither Maria nor Clare were with her; they haji gone to the 
Rectory, but would take the short cut. and join their mother in 
time to accompany her home. It had been Mrs. Hunt’s plan. She 
wished to have the best part of her visit by herself; to be able to 
throw out pregnant suggestions whicli might rankle in the Tol- 
letons’ bosoms, to plant seeds of doubt and apprehension which 
must in due time bear the proper fruit of hopeless despair. If 
Maria had been with her, this might not have been so easy. 

This was, however, only a part of her mission. Like other 
great embassadors she had her apparent and her non-apparent 
business. She had to learn as well as to communicate. 

If Maria’s simple attrPK3tions had really and truly defeated, 
by their simplicity, the lures of these wily ladies, they would 
surely by this time have found it out. She thought at least they 
would, but she w^ould fain be certain. She wished to discover 
how much they suspected ;'’she wondered if it were possible that 
they could have suspected nothing. 

In that case her task would be easy and delightful. She 
would enlighten them with all the delicacy in the world; but 
gently as she would plant the arrow, it should be poisoned. If 
they really still imagined they were going to have it all their 
own way with Mr. Smith, it was only her duty to open their 
eyes. She little knew whom she had to deal with. It is true 
that on other occasions the Miss Tolletons had not been as reti- 
cent as perhaps prudence demanded, with regard to their love 
matters. They would freely tell who came six days in the week, 
and who seven. They made confidences and confessions, with 
heedless prodigality. 

But now they were wise. They knew Mr. Smith. Instead of 
increasing his attentions, any remarks coming to his ears were, 
Helen felt convinced, more likely to put a stop to them alto- 
gether. 

He was not aware of having paid any; nor, indeed, strictly 
speaking, had he. She owned to herself with ut a bi^sh that, 
so far, the outside he had done had been to receive hers. She 
had therefore warned her sisters to be circumspect, and as they 
both now entertained high hope of a serious ending to what 
had begun in jest, they were prepared to be obedient to what- 
ever her penetration and knowledge of the subject should 
dictate. 

Accordingly Mrs. Hunt was ill prepared for the line of action 
decided upon. 

Miss Tolleton would not allow that they had seen anything of 
him, They fancied he was away from home. Papa and he 


8 ^ 


MR, SMITH. 


were great friends when he was at home, and they all thought 
him such a very nice old gentleman. However, she must not 
say “old ” to Mrs. Hunt, perhaps. There were whispers which 
she must not mention — must not disturb her with. Had she not 
heard? Was it possible she had not heard? But then people 
always were the last to hear anything about themselves. It was 
just as well. Mrs. Hunt must not press her; because, if she did, 
it would be sure to slip out; she never could keep secrets. No, 
she would not tell if she could help it; Mrs. Hunt would be 
vexed. People would talk — it was vain to try and stop them. 
If there was nothing in it, the report would die out of itself. 

Mrs. Hunt, with burning cheeks, begged at least to hear the 
report. It was hard if the report had anything to do with her 
and hers that she might not even hear it. She put her hand on 
her young friend’s head as she spoke, and her tone was quite af- 
fectionately pathetic. 

Helen played with her rings. She really did not know. She 
did so dislike gossip. At any rate, Mrs. Hunt must not be angry 
with her. She must understand that none of them had ever 
given the slightest countenance to the story. Their answer had 
invariably been, that if there were any truth in it, they could 
trust Maria and Clare to bring the news to Freelands themselves. 
Of course, tiU that was done, they could never think of making 
inquiries. Of all things, they would shun being thought in- 
trusive. However, if Mrs. Hunt would promise — it was about 
Mr. Smith. 

Then, indeed, Mrs. Hunt felt that she had done the girls in- 
justice. Helen’s voice was music in her ears. 

About Mr. Smith, and one, report did not say which— of the 
Miss Hunts. All she wanted to say was, that they might rely 
on her and her sisters' discretion; the subject shculd never be 
alluded to before any one, if Mi’s. Hunt would just say so much, 
was it Maria ? 

Poor Mrs. Hunt! How elated was her crest! How well, and 
modestly, she thought she did her part! 

The many iniquities of Freelands were condoned, the sisters 
for the time were almost as much to her as to her daughters. 
Helen had never been looking better. What a handsome creat- 
ure she was, and how improved in manner! Her attention had 
been quite wonderful, and she had sat and chatted with her for 
nearly an hour before the girls came in, as pleasantly as possible. 
Yes, she would own she could be as agreeable as anybody when 
she chose. 

This was for Maria and Clare going home. 

“ Lily seemed in great spirits,” observed Clare, thoughtfully. 
She had remarked that, on the occasion of their disturbing the 
afternoon tea-party at Freelands, Lilv had been next Captain 
Wellwood. 

“Oh, she’s a silly creature that’s always in spirits,” said her 
mother, in whose eyes Lily had not gone up so high as the 
others. “ She’s one of those that can’t help laughing when 
there’s nothing in the world to laugh at. Once or twice when 
we were sitting talking quite quietly, Helen and I, she began to 


MR. SMITH. 


83 


smirk and giggle, as if one of us had said something ridiculous. 
It’s a bad habit to get into, as I have always warned you two. 
1 must say that, for Helen, she is by far the best behaved of any 
of them. I’m really astonished Mr. Smith does not admire 
her!” 

“ Carry was very good to you, too, mamma,” said Clare, with 
a quick suppressing glance at Maria, who she feared was about 
to commit herself. 

“ Yes, Carry was civil enough; but she is not so good-natured 
as Helen. Helen says very pretty things. I must say I had a 
nice visit, and I really think the girls much improved.” 

“ My dear,” as soon as she got home, “ I do think those Tol- 
leton girls are improved. We had quite a pleasant time there 
this afternoon. Helen made me take off my things, and settle 
myself comfortably; and she and I sat and chatted away till tlie 
girls came. I assure you I was quite surprised to see them — the 
time had passed so quickly.” 

“ You must have been deep in your neighbor’s affairs, Polly. 
Come, now, what tit-bit of scandal had the fair ladies picked up 
for you to-day, that you were quite of one mind about? Who 
has been committing some atrocious delinquency, exceeding 
even themselves? Or what have you learnt new about Mr. 
Smith ?” 

“Oh fie, doctor — to think such a thing! Can't I have a 
pleasant ahernoon without your talking that nonsense? Mr. 
Smith, indeed! I am not likely to learn much of Mr. Smith at 
Freelands, from what I hear. They thought he was away from 
home. Anything new about Mr. Smith will have to come from 
another quarter, I suspect. Girls, go and take off your things, 
if you don’t want to be late for tea.” 

“ It was about Mr. Smith, all the same, however,” said slie, as 
soon as the door closed. “ You are so sharp, my dear, there’s no 
putting you off. Well, what do you think ? It’s all over the 
place that he’s after Maria!” 

Looking at her triumphant face, h smile gradually irradiated 
his. 

“ Do you really mean to say so ?” 

“Indeed I do! and on the very best authority — though you 
will hardly believe me — Helen Tolleton herself. Now I’ll tell 
you what I think. Of course it must have been pepper and 
vinegar to their proud stomachs, after the open way they went 
after him— Helen in particular; and that makes it all the more 
certain. She wouldn’t wish to believe it, you know, as long as 
she could possibly help; but she has got the sense to see the 
thing is done, and wishes to put a bold face on it.” 

“ Will they try to put Maria off him, do you think ?” 

“ If they do I’ll be even with them. But no, they won’t. I 
do think they have a sort of kindly feeling for our girls; and if 
Maria became Mrs. Smith, they reckon they would be up at the 
Hill all day long. A fine thing for them; they would makegood 
use of her. No, I don’t think they would wish to put her off 
him. If he doesn’t take up with themselves, I do believe they 
would as soon Maria had him as anybody.” 


MR. SMITH. 


84 


And what had Miss Helen to say about it? Where had she 
picked it up, I wonder ?” 

“She wouldn’t name names; hut I suspect it had come from 
more quarters than one. Their meetings in the village, she said, 
and Maria using the short cut. However, it was I said 
it was Maria — that is to say” — alarmed at her husband’s 
face — “ she said it was one, and begged to know which. So I 
said I was sure we had never thought of such a thing, and had 
never noticed anything particular from Mr. Smith to either; but 
that if it was either, it was Maria.” 

“I would not have said it — I would not indeed. I wonder, 
Polly, at your committing yourself to that. Now it will be set 
about everywhere that we told them it was Maria.” 

Care sat upon the doctor’s brow, in spite of his wife’s 
soothing. 

“ Oh no, it won’t, Robert. You needn’t fear. That Helen is a 
good matured creature on the whole; and she begged so hard, 
and promised so faithfully not to tell. She would hardly tell 
me, till I made her. She seemed to be quite afraid I wmiild be 

f mt out. I told her idle reports never put me out, and made be- 
ieve I put no faith in it. I dare say she thinks we have many 
such. But I said I wouldn’t have it repeated to the girls. She 
promised me that.” 

“She mayn’t repeat it to the girls, but she may to worse 
people. However, it cannot be helped now; I only hope it won’t 
get round to Smith. They would never go to him with it, eh ?” 

“ That you may be quite easy about, my dear. From Helen’s 
whole way of talking, I am convinced they see very little of 
him. I could almost take my oath they have never met since 
w^e found him there that afternoon.” 

“ Why you told me he dined with them last week.” 

“I took it for granted his Monday engagement was to them, 
but I am rather inclined to think I was mistaken. Neither he 
nor they ever said so, you know. I fancy one or other of them 
would, if it had been the case.” 

“You think he is quite off there, then ?” 

“ If ever he was on. Perhaps I was rather hasty, but I must say 
it appeared at first as if they were tooth and nail after him. It 
might have been only their flirting ways. They never can let a 
man pass, be he what he may, as old as an owl, and as ugly as a 
hippopotamus. However, whether that was all or not, it’s plain 
he never had any thought of them; and I’m bound to say Helen 
gave me the impression to-day, that there never was, nor had 
been, anything between them.” 

Which was exactly the impression Helen intended to give. 

She knew— who better ? — that Mr. Smith w-as not away. If he 
had been, how could he have brought down that delicious little 
plan of the summer-house for her inspection the very day before 5 
And how could she have accompanied him to the edge of the 
plantation when he went away? And how could he have been 
obliged to go away sooner than he need otherwise have done, 
because he was going to meet an old friend at the station ? And 
how could they be expecting him to bring the old friend to luuch* 


MR. SMITH, 


85 


eon the very day after Mrs. Hunt’s call? No, no, he was safe 
at home. And Miss Helen, it was rather a risky story ; you 
ought to have ascertained at least that Mrs. Hunt had not 
caught a glimpse of the gray hat on its way through the plan- 
tation, or laid hold of its wearer elsewhere, and wormed the 
truth out of him. 

Mr. Smith, in his integrity, would have seen no reason either 
for evasion or concealment. It might have been a bad business. 

Nothing of the kind, however, had happened, and she thought 
no harm was done. She was bright and confident, and spruced 
herself up gayly for the old gentlemen’s luncheon next day. 

Early in the morning she had reminded Carry of Mr. Smith s 
foreign residence, and suggested tlie propriety of a few made- 
up dishes. Papa was told to stay at home and make himself fit 
for company; and punctually at half- past one o’clock the com- 
pany arrived. 

Mr. Smith had talked of an old friend, and the sisters had con- 
cluded be meant one of his own contemporaries. They were ra- 
ther taken aback, in consequence, when a slender, elegantly- 
formed young man, whose age certainly could not exceed thirty- 
five, followed him into the room, and was named Sir George 
Lorrimer. 

Miss Tolleton liad nothing to regret. She knew Sir George by 
name, and knew that there was a Lady Lorrimer. She was 
proud of Mr. Smith’s acquaintance, and pleased that he should 
wish to make his, theirs. She was seen to the best advantage. 
Beautiful, graceful, hospitable, unembarrassed, her manners just 
what they ought to be. Sir George was caught, “ by Jove !” 

When first told that he was going to a Mr. Tolleton's, a neigh- 
bor’s, to luncheon, he had wished Mr. Tolleton at the bottom of 
the sea. A country lout who would drag him out to inspect his 
farming, his pigs, and his poultry. Mr. Smith’s remarking that 
the young ladies were reputed beauties mended the case a little; 
but it was not until he had seen the eldest daughter, that he 
gave over considering the engagement an unmitigated bore. 

The other sisters were not worth looking at. 

Poor Carry I Poor Lily! The truth was, they had not changed 
their dresses. Mrs. Hunt’s eulogium on their neatness might be 
just, but tliey looked dowdy beside their brilliant sister. Lily 
had laughed at Helen for taking so much trouble, but she now 
earnestly wished she had done the same. And Helen had urged 
her to do it, said it was very little trouble, that a black silk 
never got harmed, and that it looked odd for one to change and 
not the others. 

For this the others had their answer. Why then did she do 
it ? She had looked quite nice before, and her beautiful lace 
square and sleeves would certainly not keep clean long if they 
were to be worn on every such occasion. Mr. Smith would have 
liked her just as well as she was. There had been a little tiff 
between the two parties, harmlessly ending in each taking their 
own way. 

Miss Tolleton had coiled her hair afresh, and put on the new 
dress, and a band of scarlet velvet roiiiid her throat. Lily 


86 


MR. SMITH. 


contented herself with a clean collar, and washing her hands. 
Carry, after the tiff was over, forgot all about it, and the luncheon- 
party, besides; and was caught in the drawing-room just as she 
was. 

The consciousness of this, joined to the usual unavailing re- 
grets, confiiseil the two culprits, and the evidence the new’^- 
comer was not slow to give of his considering them inferior, 
altogether quelled them. Sir George, in fact, imagined they 
were still in the schoolroom. They had entirely the look of two 
blooming awkward school-girls. They seated themselves at 
table wdthout a word, and even Lily remained nearly mute the 
whole time of luncheon. 

Helen came out all the better for the dull background. She 
and her father had plenty to say, and she, at least, said it well. 
With Mr. Smith they seemed on the easiest terms. Sir George 
observed with a little surprise the animation with which his fair 
neighbor addressed his friend. For him were her sparkling 
sallies, her playful repartees. For him several retrospective 
allusions which seemed enigmas to the rest. Her opinion was 
sought in return, and her wishes consulted. 

It appeared as if they understood each other. He looked at 
Miss Tolleton once or twice, and after considering that she was 
a lively girl as well as a pretty one, it suddenly dawned upon 
him that she was a clever one too. 

This must be looked into. He delighted to unravel a scheme, 
to pick out the kernel of a secret. It was something w’^orth 
coming for: it gave an interest to the day. Had they not been 
expected at the Castle, he vvould have liked to remain a little 
after luncheon; to spend the afternoon, in fact. They were ex- 
pected, however, and had promised to call early, not to keep any 
one at home. 

“Nice chatty little woman. Lady Sauffrenden,” said Sir 
George. 

“ We don't know her,” replied Helen, calmly. 

So much Mr. Smith had hy this time become aware of. No 
one had assigned any reason, or indeed had openly stated the 
fact, but he had discovered the fact, and longed to know the 
reason. 

If Miss Tolleton had appeared confused, had tried to slur it 
over, had offered any excuse, all would have been plain; but her 
quiet “We don’t know her,” made all the “ don’t knowing” ap- 
pear to be on their side. It had now the aspect of a good, hon- 
est. neighborly quarrel. 

When Helen asked Captain Wellwood after Lady Sauffrenden’s 
health in that thoughtful manner before mentioned, it was 
merely for the sake of relieving an awkwardness. She had no 
thought of blinding him. She had no intention of deceiving Mr. 
Smith. Philip, she knew, was already aware how it was, an<l 
Mr. Smith soon would be. The affectionate inquiry had an- 
swered its end, but now the subject must be treated differently. 

Sir George, as well as Mr. Smith, took it as she intended. 

“ A peppery little person, you know,” said the former, conti- 
dentiaUy afterward. “ She always did like to have the high 


MR. SMITH. 


87 

hand, and I daresay gets Sauffrenden into hot water sometimes. 
What a good fellow he is! I never knew a better fellow in my 
life.” 

“ I always thought there was something,” said Mr. Smith, re- 
verting to the Tolletons. “It was never said, but I felt sure 
there was. I have heard Miss Tolleton ask most kindly after 
Lady Sauffrenden, but I could not gather from that whether 
they were acquainted or not.” 

“ T/ia^was very plainly said to-dav, however. Perhaps the 
little woman objects to having such attractions too frequently at 
the Castle. No, not on any particular account, of course; but 
you know it is a fact that the pretty creatures positively ain't 
like each other, however much tliey try.” 

“That is one of your abominable notions, which you try to 
pawn off on other people. It is not a fact to me. You‘must find 
some other reason.” 

“ Ton my word, I can’t. Sauffrenden’s no dangler, or I should 
say he had been ” 

“ No, no, Lorrimer, that won’t pass either.” 

“Then, depend upon it, Mr. Tolleton’s cat has been hunting 
the w^oods and got trapped.” 

“ That is far more likely.” 

“ Or his dog killed a pheasant.” 

“ More likely still.” 

“ Or he hands the plate too regularly at church; or he objects 
to smoking in a railway caniage; or— or— his daughter is too 
pretty by half.” 

This Mr. Smith vehemently denied. 

Carry and Lily revenged themselves for their enforced retire- 
ment into the shade as soon as Freelands was itself again. 

“ Helen, you told us he said an old friend.” 

“ So he did; those were his words. How could I tell any more 
than you that the old friend would prove a young man ? You’ll 
wish now you had done what I asked you about your black 
sUks.” 

“But who would ever have guessed,” said Lily, in an injured 
voice, “ that an old fusty Mr. Smith — I beg your pardon, Nelly, 
but it is the truth — that he should have had a friend like that?” 

“i^nd a baronet to boot!” 

“ I rather wondered you did not waver in your allegiance, my 
dear. I gave you great credit for not transferring your petifs 
soins at once to the new aspirant.” 

‘ ‘ Aspirant ! Nonsen se !” 

“ You chose to consider him such, whether he w^as or not — I 
knew by your way.” 

“If you knew so well,” said her sister, nettled, “ it is a pity 
you did not know a little better. There is a Lady Loi rimer.” 

“ How did you find that out ? I don’t believe it.” 

“ Believe it or not, as you like. You might have heard Mr. 
Smith talk of her if you had kept your ears open.” 

“ Open they must have been indeed, for 1 never come w ithin 
a hundred yards when you are talking, on purpose? to be oitt of 
the way.’* 


88 


MR. SMITH. 


“ Well, there is, then; she was one of the Albuts.” 

“ Is he come to stay ?” 

“ That I don’t know. I tell you I did not know he was com- 
ing, I had no idea it was to be he. The only thing I do know is 
that he has a wife.” 

“ I don’t think it was fair in Mr. Smith to bring a man of that 
stamp to any one’s house without warning. Of course we are not 
like great folks. Did you see the shudder he gave at the singed 
pudding?” 

“Oh, Carry, that reminds me. You must speak to the cook 
about that pudding. It was horrible, and Mr. Smith would 
eat it.” 

“ Why did you not stop him ?” 

“ He had got it on to his plate before it was discovered, and 
then he persisted in finishing it.” 

“ I can’t think what made her do it, I am sure,” said Carry. 
“Stupid woman! The rest was all so nice. If only Mr. Smith 
had had the sense not to break it, the singed smell never would 
have come out. It was close to me all the time, and I had a 
suspicion there was something nasty. It was very faint, and no 
one else would have known. What made him take pudding at 
all? He should have taken jelly, if he took anything. Very 
few men touch sweet things at luncheon.” 

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter; everything else w'as good. 
Nothing could have passed off better. And now I wonder what 
he will go and say of us at the Castle!” 

“ I don’t believe he will mention us.” 

“ And I believe he will, the first thing.” 


CHAPTER XIL 

I THOUGHT IT WOULD NEVER END! 

Helen was right. Sir George did mention them, and very 
nearly, if not quite the first thing. 

He declined luncheon on the ground of having had luncheon. 
They had just come from having it with some pretty neighbors 
of theirs; and then, before he could say the name. Lord Sauffren- 
den’s face showed that he at least had divined it. 

There was silence directly it was spoken, and the inevitable 
guilty Tolleton air stole over several of the company. On Philip 
Wellwood, who was having a day’s shooting at the Castle, and 
on the host himself, it was most visible, but a shadow of it 
tainted even Mr. Smith. Sir George Lorrimer and Lady Sauf- 
frenden alone were unmoved. 

Sir George went on with all the unreservedness of a stranger. 
“What a handsome girl the eldest is! She is the eldest, is she 
not — or are there others ?” 

How busy Lord Sauffrenden was feeding Gyp, and how sud- 
denly Captain Wellwood became interested in the belt of his 
powder-flask! Mr. Smith, to whom the question had not been 
put, was obliged to take it as if it had. 

There were no signs of any sort of reply to be got from the 
little autocrat who held them all in check, and whose head 


MR. SMITH. 


89 


merely reared in the faintest possible manner backward, to 
show that, had she done as she liktd, she would have tossed it. 
How should she know if there were three Miss Tolletons, or 
three hundred ? It was a subject to which she had never given 
a thought. Thus much she would have said, if she had said 
anything. As it was, she merely looked the questioner full in 
the face, and then turned her long neck slowly toward Mr. 
Smith. The inquiry could not possibly have been meant for her. 

Mr. Smith was thus obliged to receive it. His answer was, 
“No, I never heard of any.” 

“I suppose you see a great deal of them?” Sir George ad- 
dressed her pointedly. “ They must be your nearest neighbors, 
unless you are unusually well off.” 

“ Yes — no; there are none nearer. But really we are very 
independent of other people. We don’t see much of anybody. 
Sauffrenden and I are a very humdrum couple.” 

“Yes, indeed,” he corroborated, eagerly. “We are often 
weeks without anything going on at all. You must come down 
and wake us up, Lorrimer. Mr. Smith will think us a dread- 
fully slow set of folks.” 

They were now, he thought, off the Tolleton quicksands. 

“ I have not seen much slowness as yet,” said Sir George. “ I 
should not say that slowness prevailed in the house we were at 
to-day, eh. Smith?” 

Mr. Smith smiled his assent. 

“The pretty one had plenty to say for herself, hadn’t she? 
You and she were great friends.” 

Cruel man! How thoroughly he enjoyed saying it! 

“ Which do you call the pretty one ?” said Captain Wellwood, 
carelessly. “ They all set up to be that, you know.” 

“No, do they? I hardly looked at the others. By and by, 
perhaps they may be, but they are barely fledged yet.” 

“Oh, indeed they are. The second, at least, was out before I 
was married,” said Sauffrenden, with a look at his wife, meant 
to convey, “ There, you see, I don’t stick up for them.” 

“You are not a very old married man yet, Sauffrenden; but 
to be out at all, they certainly are young looking. Sweet seven- 
teen, I should have guessed them. You don’t consider them 
beauties?” to Lady Sauffrenden. 

“ 1 hardly know them by sight, only by passing them some- 
times when I am driving.” “ Haughty little sinner!” thought 
Sir George. “ As jealous as she can be, and puts on these airs 
to hide it. They become her, too. She never looked better.” 

“Well, but Miss Tolleton? You must have met Miss Tolle- 
ton ? Won’t jou allow her something. Lady Sauffrenden ? T as- 
sure you I was quite subjugated, and as for Smitli, there’s no 
spirit left in him.” 

Every one looked at Mr. Smith now. Sauffrenden and Philip 
were unable to keep their eyes off him, and even the lady stole 
a glance of inquiry. 

Unconscious of all, he answered, laughing, “Really, Lorrimer, 
if that is to be the way, I must be careful how I take you there 


90 MR. SMITH. 

again. I had no idea j^ou were made of such inflammable mat- 
ter.” 

“Inflammable? To be sure I am. So inflammable that at 
one-and-twenty 1 was set on fire and devastated like the prairies, 
to make me safe ever afterward. I’m perfectly harmless now. 
But you, you would burn like a tinder box.” 

“I have been a long time about it, then.’* 

“ Getting drier and drier, just like the prairies. How the fire 
will rage when once the match is struck! What do you think, 
Ijady Sauffrenden ? Is it not rather dangerous for this good 
friend of mine to have planted his wigwam so near, so very near 
to a certain pair of bright eyes ?” 

“That, I think, may be left to himself,” replied she, trying to 
speak with moderation. “At least,” she added turning to him 
with a sw^eet, sudden smile, “ we shall be at no pains to send him 
further away.” 

“ That was well done, and she is good to him at all events,” 
thought Sir George. “ jSut I must make one more shot.” 

Aloud: “ Well, then, I suppose he is to be left to his fate, for 
better, for worse! But,” to his hostess again, “ the fair Helen 
appears to be no friend of yours ?” 

“ I should be sorry to say she was.” 

“Indeed? Now I should have thought you were cut out for 
each other. Two such charming people ought to be seen togeth- 
er, if only for the benefit of others.” 

“ But I am not charming. Sir George, and I know nothing of 
Miss Tolleton’s charms. Pray let us l^e content to keep apart.” 

The little lady snapped the thread in her netting- needle as she 
spoke. Her husband hastened to mediate. 

“ Seriously, Milly, this is nothing to laugh about. We shall 
begin to suspect Sir George’s devastation, if he goes on at this 
rate. I shall send Lady Lorrimer a telegram in private. Helen 
is a dangerous girl.” 

“ She is, indeed,” emphatically. 

(“ Oh, confound it! What will Smith think ?”) “ It won’t do, 
you see, Lorrimer. They hate each other like poison, those two. 
They would never assimilate if they lived a hundred years.” 

Lady Sauffrenden burnt wdth indignation. Hate each other! 
Such a way of putting it! Each other! As if they were exactly 
equal. What a shame it was of Sauffrenden! How could he 
say such a thing, knowing all the time, as well as possible, how 
it was ? She lost her head and her temper now, and spoke un- 
advisedly. 

“I really don’t know what you can possibly mean, Sauffren- 
den. As to hating — I have never spoken to Miss Tolleton in my 
life; I never wish to speak to her. I do not like wliat I hear of 
them, and I don’t choose to know them, and that is all.” Hat- 
ing! It was too ridiculous; letting her down before these men 
like that. She could have boxed her husband’s ears. 

“Heyday! Milly! ’Pon my word, you take high ground, 
my little woman. But I dare say Miss Tolleton feels the same. 
Eh, Philip? Confess now, you know them — isn’t it so?” 


MR. SMITH. 


91 


(“Smith will be furious if she goes on like this, It is enough 
to make him cut us dead.”) 

Philip would not allow he had ever heard Miss Tolleton speak 
of Lady SaufTrenden at all. Except — yes, once lately to ask 
after|her health. “ Have you been ill ?” inquired Sir George. 

“No, thank you, I have been quite well. I am very much 
obliged to Miss Tolleton.” 

“ There he goes!” groaned her husband inwardly, as the 
merciless baronet still pursued the subject. “Why can’t he 
take the hint? Tl)ick-headed idiot!” 

“Then, ray dear Lady Sauffren»ien, you are the very person 
to keep watch over my friend here. He is not to be trusted; 
indeed he is not, I assure you. You and Sauffrenden ” 

“No, no, not I, Sir George,” interposed he, with a quick, 
short laugh; “ I will have nothing to do with it. For my part, 
I am a great admirer of the fair Helen. I beg to. decline the 
office.” 

Lady Sauffrenden lifted her eyes in astonishment. She had 
seldom seen her husband so angry in her life. What could so 
suddenly have roused him? 

“Oh, you are, are you?” said Sir George. “Then here is 
Captain Wellwood.” 

“ Most happy,” said Philip, indifferently; “ anything to please. 
Mr. Smith suppose we go there to-morrow ?” 

So they were all against her — even Philip now. Her husband 
defiant, Sir George contemptuous, Philip setting her at naught, 
and Mr. Smith gravely displeased. Her heart swelled at the 
thought. Had she not had cause to be indignant? Was not she 
the one aggrieved? Everybody, by turns, had tried to vex her, 
and then, when she was stung into saying more than perhaps 
she should, they took advantage of it. To think she was jealous! 
Jealous of that girl! Had she ever denied her beauty? She 
liad never once given any one the slightest grounds for supposing 
she denied it. She was pretty, of course — she was exceedingly 
pretty; it would be absurd to call her anything else. But that 
did not make her nice; and certainly it did not make her a fit 
companion for her. 

And then for Sauffrenden to go and say he was a great ad- 
mirer, just as if he went and flirted with her — he who had never 
spoken to any one of them in his life. He must have been reck- 
less when he said it. It was such a story too. But then she 
remembered his angry laugh, and wondered what had caused it. 
If she could only see him alone. 

But for this she had to wait. They went out and she was left 
by herself. Wearily the afternoon passed, and the tea-tray 
waited till the tea was cold, ere they came in. 

“ I have ordered the pony- carriage, Milly,” said her husband; 
“ and, if you like, I thought you might drive Mr. Smith and Sir 
George back. Phil and I are just going out for anothe.r hour, so 
1 won’t wait.” 

She looked at him yearningly. He came up and kissed her, 
and put his hand on her shoulder. They all seemed in better 
spiifits. She alone had had nothing to cheer hers. 


92 


MR, SMITH. 


“Go and put on your things, dear.” 

“ Can I pick you up anywhere, Sauffrenden ?” 

“ No, no, never mind us. At least you might come to the 
Hislops’ cottage about half-past five— but it will be too late for 
you to be out then, I daresay. However, come if you like, but 
don’t wait for us.” 

Wait she would, however, if it were an hour. 

The two sportsmen hurried out. The light was too precious to 
be wasted, and they were not allowed to be ceremonious. 

“Well, Philip? Eh? Well?” cried Sauffrenden, as soon as 
they were alone. “ What did you think of that for a scene ? 
Ha! ha! ha! I can laugh at it now, but it was dreadf ul, wasn’t 
it ? I could have sunk into the very earth for shame! That fool 
Lorrimer! And my wife making it worse every time she opened 
her lips! I thought it would never end! I thought we should 
never get off without a regular blow-up! I did not know which 
way to look.” 

“ Or whether to laugh or to cry.” 

“ No, hang it! I never felt less like laughing in my life!” 

“ And then you appealed to me.” 

“ My dear fellow, I would have appealed to — well, we won’t 
say who, himself! I never was in such a strait! There was 
Milly, on the one hand, with her solemn face, and Lorrimer 
thinking it was all a joke, and Smith looking from one to the 
other; but he is enlightened as to one thing now, at all events. 
He is no longer in ignorance of Lady Sauffrenden’s feelings on 
the subject. I mean to speak to Milly. I was disgusted at that 
part of it. It’s enough to put him off.” 

“ He must not be much worth, if it is.” 

“Oh, I don’t know.’' Lord Sauffrenden naturally regarded 
his wife’s favor as of great importance. “ Nobody could like it. 
And Lorrimer all unsuspecting.” 

“ Do you think he was so unsuspecting?” 

“ If he was not, it was a shabby thing to do. But no. Smith 
is his friend, and he would not wish to hurt him. Smith is a fel- 
low nobody would wish to annoy. He could hardly have guessed 
anything.” 

“ It struck me he kept to the subject rather closely.” 

“Oh, he wanted to find out. I daresay he had heard we 
weren’t on intimate terms.” 

“But it Was not you, it was Smith he stuck to.” 

“Do you think it was ? If that w^ere the way — I really should 
not wonder if it were. He thinks it a bad lookout for his friend, 
and wanted us to put him off. If that was it, Milly was playing 
into his hands. If that explains it, you must have been sharper 
than I, for it never once occurred to me.” 

“It’s only a guess; but they had just been there together, and 
on one side, at least, there is no secret made. Yes, hers of 
course. She seems rather to enjoy having spectators, and Sir 
George is by no means asleep, even when he closes his eyes.” 

“ If that IS the case,” said Suffrenden, with honest heat, “ he 
may just get some one else to sound his alarm-bell. Asking me 
to keep watch indeed ! What business is it of his ? The poor girl 


MR. 


must marry some oue, and I don't think she could do better. 
As for him, though he is well enough, he’s not everybody’s bar- 
gain, you know. For my part, I don’t see anything against the 
match; and any way I’m not going to be the one to put my foot 
in it.” 

“ The thing is,” said Philip, thoughtfully, “ whether he means 
anything or not ?” 

‘ Who ? Lorrimer ?” 

“ No, Smith. As yet I cannot see that he has made any 
great advances, and he was certainly as cool as a cucumber 
to-day.” 

Why, you don’t expect a man at his time of life to turn red 
and white at every word. He may not be exactly ardent, but 
I think he has made up his mind to it. You said yourself that 
Lorrimer had fished it out.” 

“Yes, but ’’ said Philip, hesitating. “ I was thinking of 

her purpose, not his.” 

“ Oh, then, you think she proposes to — to make him, propose, 
in short ?” 

“ I think she does. And then whether she accepts him, or not, 
will be another thing.” 

“ Good gracious! You don’t mean to say he is to be thrown 
overboard? Tf I thought that ” 

“I never said so, Sauffrenden,” laughing. “ You tre in too 
great a hurry. 1 think the chances are ten to one that she will 
accept him.” 

“Well, that’s all I want,” replied his friend, pacified. “If 
she does that, it is all she can do. And I won’t have her inter- 
fered with. I shall speak seriously to Milly; and as for Lorri- 
mer, he must be prevented putting his oar in. There’s Hislop. 
Don’t forget to be at the cottage at half-past five, and we can 
give you a lift. Ta, ta!” 

Lord Sauffrenden was highly delighted with his new toy, and 
his new toy was the combination of Mr. Smith and the Tol- 
letons. 

It was necessary, however, to hide his delight, and speak to 
Milly, as he said seriously. 

He began by telling her that he was very ill pleased, and 
that she had been very rude, and pulled such a long face as she 
drove him home in the pony-carriage, that, weary and un- 
happy as she had been beforehand, she was soon utterly subdued. 

He had met her a mile on the other side of the cottage for 
the special purpose of administering this conjugal lecture alone. 

Whether anything came of it or not, he would not have Mr. 
Smith annoyed in his house. Mr. Smith had just taken Sir 
George Lorrimer to Freelands, and then she must needs inform 
them both that the Tolletons were not good enough for her! 
He really wondered how a woman who prided herself upon her 
behavior, could have been so ill-bred and disagreeable. Helen 
Tolleton had never done her any harm, and he would not have 
it said all over the country that his wife was jealous of her 
/ooks. 


MR. SMITH. 


Of course that was what they all thought. She might have 
seen Sir George was only amusing himself at her expense. 

In all his life Sauffrenden had never said so many cutting 
things. 

Milly could scarcely bear them. She was so unaccustomed b?- 
rebuke; so accustomed to love, admiration, and a little subjec- 
tion. She hardly knew what to make of this. Tears of mortifi 
cation rose to her eyes as she made her defense. 

How could Sir George think so? How could any of them.* 
Sauffrenden knew it was not true. And it was he who had pot 
it into their heads, saying she and Miss Tolleton hated eaCli 
other. 

Sauffrenden retained the upper hand. He had had to say 
something. He was so put out he hardly knew what to say. It 
was the best face he could put on the matter. He had often 
told her that that little tongue of hers would get her into mt- 
chief, and so it had. She must pay for it now. | 

Milly said petulantly that she had nothing to pay for. 

He went on. “You ought to have let the subject drop ” 

“ So I did. It was he, Sir George, who would go on with it. 

I let it drop every time. How can you be so unjust, Sauffren- 
den?” 

“ I was ^ vexed about Smith.” 

“ What about Mr. Smith ? What has he been doing with the 
Tolletons ? I don’t understand what it is all about.' Sir George 
was only laughing at him.” 

“Sir George might be laughing, but he was not. It is as well 
you should know that he admires Helen ” 

“ Oh, indeed he does not, Sauffrenden. He was only carrying 
on the joke; and I daresay he likes to be laughed at in that way 
a little, because he is getting old.” 

“ Nonsense; it was nothing of the kind. If it was, why could 
you not carry on the joke too ?” 

“I thought those girls might be making a set at him, and it 
would be a kindness to warn him.” 

“ I tell you, dear, I will not have you going about warning 
people in this way. You forget you are only a young pretty 
woman, too, and take to yourself all the scolding airs of an ol^ 
dowager.” 

“I am sorry,” said she, softened still more by the little com- 
pliment than by the rebuke. 

“ Well, don’t do it again, that’s all I have to say. And if there 
ever should be anything between Smith and the Tolletons, don’t 
you take any notice; it’s not your place.’' 

She longed to say it was her place — longed to repudiate the 
idea of there ever being anything between Mr. Smith and the 
Tolletons — ^but prudence and love prevailed. Sauffrenden had 
been really vexed; therefore she said nothing. 

“ Now, mind!” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“ Give me a kiss, then, and I’ll forgive you. Woa! look out 
for the powder-flask; you ran it right into me! There's PV.l* t 


MR. SMITH. 


95 


told him to be at the cottage. All right, Phi — lip! Hey! come 
to the cor — uer, and we needn’t go all the way u — up!” 

Ahd so well had he done his work, and so timely had been the 
chastisement, that he might have conversed on the forbidden 
subjects for fully a week afterward, and never once needed to 
call them the T’s. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE CHRISTMAS FEAST. 

“ I AM in a strait, and have come to see who v ill help me out 
of it,” said Mr. Smith, entering the drawing-room at Freelands 
one afternoon. “ I wdsli to give my work-people a Christmas 
treat, and have no idea how. Most of them are married men 
with families; and I mean to have the wives, and children too. 
We can find room for all, and, I hope, entertainment; if one 
only knew how to begin. You,” turning to Miss Tolleton, “can 
help me, I am sure.” 

“ If I can, you may be certain I will,” replied Helen. “ What 
is the first difficulty — the invitations?” 

“ No, I think 1 can manage the invitations. I have a list of 
names here, and will go round and ask them myself. But the 
truth is, I am so lamentably ignorant, I really don’t know wdiat 
to ask them to. Is it dinner, tea, or supper ?” 

They all laughed. 

“ They will come to whatever it is, I fancy,” said Miss Tolleton, 
pleasantly. “ It is a meal of some sort. In their own minds 
they will call it dinner, tea, or supper, according to the hour. 
What o’clock do you think of asking them?” 

“ That is one of the points I wish to consult upon. The days 
are closing in so fast now, it would be useless to attempt any- 
thing out of doors. Perhaps if we could arrange a magic- 
lantern, and some fireworks.” 

“ Nothing could be better. Then it will be in the evening; 
they are sure to like that.” 

“ You think they wdll? And if the meal — the dinner, tea, or 
supper — were about six o’clock, would that do ?” 

“Very well indeed, I should think. They will have got their 
work over for the day, and have time to get tidy, and give them- 
selves up to enjoyment,” said Miss Tolleton, by way of showung 
her insight into the lives of cottagers. 

“ Then we must fix on the day. What day are you disengaged 
for? I dep(‘nd upon your all coming to help, remember.” 

“Yes, of course; w^e shall be delighted. But any day will 
suit us. Had you not better refer it to some of your other 
‘ helps?’ ” adroitly. 

“Miss^Gray! but she is not likely to do me much good. I 
hardly' could ask Miss Fulton to come so far. Mr. and Mrs. 
Hardwicke will, however, I think.” 

Helen turned up her nose at Mr. and Mrs. Hardwicke. Vil- 
lage people! She had hoped for the Sauffrendens. 

“ And let me see,” pursued he, “there are the two Miss Bains. 
Mrs. Rodney wmiild have given us great assistance; but I fear 


96 MR. 

she will hardly be well enough. We must have Mr. Rodney, 
however.” 

Mr. Rodney, the curate, has been once or twice named in 
these Images. He was a smooth-faced, long-necked young man, 
with a bubble in his throat. Worse than that could not be said 
against him. He was much beloved in the parish, on account 
of his tender-heartedness. More than once in his bachelor days 
he had been known to carry his own dinner to some poor house, 
where it is certain he never ate it; and he was constantly seen 
in new clothes, for the simple reason that he had given away his 
old ones. 

When he married, this state of things could not of course go 
on. His own dinner he must eat, and his old clothes were well 
mended; but the joy of giving was not debarred him. He was 
still to be seen carrying the well-known tin pot, and his hand 
went to his pocket as readily as before. 

Mrs. Rodney was all that was good, kind, and worthy of her 
husband. The only thing against her was that she was always 
having babies. At present she was recovering from her fourth 
confinement, having been married just four years and three 
months. 

Her sister. Miss Clay, was staying with her. 

Helen reminded Mr. Smith of Miss Clay. She had seen her 
in church, and thought her privately a duli-looking girl — a poor 
edition of her sister. She would do for this occasion admirably. 

Mr. Smith was glad to hear of the addition, and promised to 
call on Mr. Rodney, and engage his and Miss Clay’s attendance 
without delay. 

“Then there are the Miss Hunts,” said he; “perhaps Mrs. 
Hunt ? Do you think ” 

“ Oh yes, with the greatest pleasure; she would be quite hurt 
if you left her out. Dr. Hunt, too, would come, if you asked 
him, I daresay. Why, Mr. Smith, you don’t know how much 
we shall all enjoy it. And now, is there anything we can do? 
Are there any preparations to be made?” 

No, it appeared the preparation could be made by others. The 
fireworks could be ordered by one friend, and the magic-lantern 
given in charge to another. His old housekeeper was equal to 
undertaking the provision department. The help he really 
wanted was on the day. He wished to be certain of their 
presence. 

This was assured him. They were as anxious to come as he 
could be to have them. As to fixing the day, they would not 
hear of it; they might be depended on for any day. Some one 
else must do that — Mr. Rodney, for instance. He had engage- 
ments; they had none. 

Helen was inflexible on this point. She felt that the presence 
of the mild curate would impart a dignity to the scene which it 
might otherwise lack. It would be right and proper, and well 
for all parties, that he should be there. 

In this way they could also become acquainted with Miss Clay. 
Since Mrs. Rodney had her sister with her, the Miss Tolletons 
had called more than once, but Miss Clay had not chosen to take 


MR, SMITH. 


97 


their cards as left on her. She had never come to Freelands, 
and had once or twice turned into a shop if she saw any of the 
party coming. It did not look as if she wished for their ac- 
quaintance. 

The curate and his wife were themselves politely civil to the 
Tolletons. It is true they managed with wonderful dexterity to 
evade their numerous invitations, and that Mrs. Rodney blushed 
uncomfortably if accosted by them in public. But neither she nor 
her husband failed in maintaining relations of quiet distant 
courtesy; and they walked steadily into the Freelands avenue, 
even if they did glance down the road before doing so. 

“They cannot harm us,” Mrs. Rodney said, “but Sarah had 
better not go.” 

And so the Miss Tolletons had not been introduced to Miss 
Clay. This was the reason why Helen was anxious she should 
be asked to the Hill. To such a gathering they could hardly 
help taking her. If Mr. Smith would allow them to fix the day, 
they were secured. 

Mr. Smith being equally desirous of their company, this was 
soon arranged, and he promised as soon as possible to let the 
ladies know the result of his application. 

Would Mr. Tolleton come? was the next suggestion. He hdd 
not liked to make it before — had not felt sure that he would care 

to leave his comfortable fireside; but if he would They were 

sure he would — he would be quite melancholy if left behind. He 
might be depended on. 

“ I hope the Miss Hunts will be able to come too,” Mr. Smith 
reverted to them, good-naturedly. He hoped every one would 
be able to come. He felt a glow of spirits and happy anticipa- 
tions that must have vent. He was ready for anything. 

“ They are at home to-day, I know; at least Mrs. Hunt is,” 
said Helen, softly. 

“ Perhaps I might look in on them after calling on the Rod- 
neys,” replied he, quick to catch the hint. “ That is, if I may 
depend on its being all one to you?” 

“ Don’t think of us at all: count upon us. We are not going 
out at all, you know, and are perfectly free. We would not 
miss this for the world. When you have arranged it with the 
others, you will come and let us know, will you not?” 

But why had he not asked the Sauffrendens? It would have 
been such* a chance, such an opportunity^ Even if she could not 
have been compassed. Lord Sauffreuden must have fallen a prey. 
Helen would have been so quiet, so demure, so sweetly, gravely 
beautiful, that she would have taken them by storm. For the 
first time she felt a little cross with Mr. Smith. 

Mr. Rodney fixed the following Thursday. There was service 
on Wednesday evenings, and he had a meeting on Friday; but 
his own little reading on Thursday he could easily put off. He 
would be glad, really glad to do it. It was so seldom that hus- 
bands and wives were permitted to share in the same treat, that 
he was doubly pleased that it was to be so in the present in- 
stance. 

He alw’ays felt a man wasn’t half a man without his wife; and 


98 


MR. SMITH. 


here lie colored, and looked as if it had suddenly dawned Upon 
him that this was not exactly the remark he ought to have 
made to one who could not be expected to sympathize in the 
sentiment. 

Mr. Smith, however, with the most happy unconsciousness, 
concurred heartily, and all was right. 

Mr. Rodney being thus secured, and Miss Clay likewise, he 
bent his steps to tlie doctor’s house. 

It was the same story here. Of course they ii'ould come. Mrs. 
Hunt would quite have scolded him if they had not been asked; 
she really thought she should hare invited herself. For the 
doctor she could not so readily promise, but she thought he might 
be looked for at any rate some time in the course of the evening. 
The dear girls would he only too happy to assist. Maria was the 
very person for anything of this kind. So fond of the poor, and 
always fussing about them. How delighted she would be, to be 
sure! 

Was there anything special required of her ? She could an- 
swer for its being done, and well done; although perhaps, as her 
mother, she had no business to say so. 

Mr. Smith confessed that there was nothing in particular re- 
quired at Miss Hunt’s hands. He would count, however, on her 
kindness when the day came. The young ladies would all be 
needed to take charge of the tea department, and perhaps Miss 
Hunt would kindly preside at one of the tables. He proposed 
to place a lady at the head of each tea-table. Miss Clay taking 
Mrs. Rodney’s place at the principal one. 

Miss Clay? That was all very well; very proper and suitable. 
A silent girl with a mole on her left cheek." She would make tea 
admirably, and never speak to Mr. Smith. 

Had he engaged any other assistants? He had not fixed the 
day before speaking to Mr, Rodney. This evasion he allowed 
himself. It was not her business what assistants he had en- 
gaged. 

She, hoAvever, saw not the evasion. She was all triumph. 

“Girls, girls, who do you think has been here? Mr. Smith. 
What a pity you were out! But what do you think he came for ? 
You’ll never guess, I can tell you. A grand ploy up at the Hill, 
and we are all to go and help. What do you think of that ? Ah! 
the Tolletons thought they would get him to give a ball, did 
they ? I should like to see them do it. They will be glad enough 
to get their noses in along with other people now. Maria is to 
make tea at one of the tables, and Miss Clay at the other. Very 
nice and right to ask Miss Clay. She goes instead of Mrs. Rod- 
ney, you know. Poor Mrs. Rodney never comes in for anything 
nice. Now I suppose you’ll want something new to wear. We 
must do what we can with papa.” 

There was no repressing her elation. She would not even an- 
imadvert on the dirty marks left by their boots on the carpet. 

“ Will he be there, do you think ?” said Maria to lier .sister, as 
soon as they were up stairs. 

“I daresay.” 

“ I almost wish he were not.” 


MR. SMITH. 


99 


“Why?” 

“ Becaiise mamma will make me stick to Mr. Smith all even- 
ing.” 

Captain Well wood, however, was not there, it never having 
entered Mr. Smith’s head to ask him. 

Every one who had been invited came. The evening was all 
that could be desired, even for fireworks. Miss Clay was in- 
stalled at the head of one table, and Miss Hunt led to* another. 
Would Miss Tolleton take the third? Miss Carry Toll eton did. 
Helen had waived the position to her sister when Mr. Smith 
came to make the final arrangements. She now took a seat quite 
in the background, busying herself among empty cups and 
saucers, and apparently desirous of nothing but being useful. 

“Do you see liow quiet Helen is?” whispered Mrs. Hunt to 
Clare. “She is quite neglected, poor thing. Now Mr. Smith 
do sit down here, and rest yourself for a minute. You have 
been on your feet all evening. Let Maria give you a good cup 
of tea to refresh you.” 

Mr. Smith, with a vivid recollection of Maria’s tea, hastily 
declined the second proposal, though he so far acceded to the 
first as to occupy the vacant seat beside her for a few minutes. 
Mrs. Hunt’s indicating finger came back to her bread-and-butter, 
and she looked serenely satisfied. 

Not so her victim. He was restless. He did not wish to get 
stuck there. He ought to look after his other guests. He won- 
dered what Miss Tolleton was doing behind the door. 

Why was she, so eminently fitted to grace the front, hid in 
the background ? He longed to go and see, but it was some 
time before he could. He w^as wanted here, he was wanted 
there. Was there to be more ale drawn? Was the great set 
piece to be in front of the drawing-room or the dining-room win- 
dow? Mr. Bowling had not left out a certain key! Mr. Smith 
had to see to many things in Bowling’s department. His old 
butler had been ill, and was getting a holiday. 

When at length he did find himself behind the pantry door, a 
passing word was all that he could obtain. 

“ I am quite happy here, thank you. There is so much to be 
done, and it is delightful to be really of use. You have plenty 
of assistance in the room, and some one is needed here.” 

“ But why should it be you?” There was a flattering emphasis 
on the words. 

“ Because I like it,” with cheerful decision. “ How well 
everything is going off! So many happy faces! Oh do go away 
now, you are so dreadfully in the way here!” 

So laughing, she drove him off: but it was enough, his reluc- 
tance was evident. 

Lily, however, was still less pleased with her sister’s obscurity. 

“You have hardly even shown yourself in the room, and Mrs. 
Hunt thinks she is carrying all before her.’’ 

“ That is just what she ought to think, my dear.” 

“But you have never had a word from Mr. Smith.” 

“ Indeed I have; he has just been here, and I sent him awa^ 

“What did you do that for?” 


100 


MR. SMITH. 


“ Because I didn’t want him — just now.” 

And how does he like your shutting yourself up here?” 

“ Not at all. I never supposed he would. T rather intended 
him not to like it. You have no idea how much good this will do 
him.” 

“ Well, but do you mean it to go on all evening ?” 

“That depends. All tea-time certainly. By and by, perhaps, 
I may better myself, as the servants say. Do you know who is 
going to show off the magic lantern ?” 

“Yes; a Mr. Bohns, a German. He has come down on pur- 
pose. I have just been talking to him, — that man with the 
beard. Why do you want to know ?” 

“I did not wish it to be Mr. Smith, that was all.” 

Lily was swept away. More empty cups and saucers had to 
be deposited, and she could no longer fill up the narrow doorway. 

When the time for exhibiting the magic-lantern arrived, how- 
ever, she remembered what Helen had said, and looked round 
for her. Some project she had in her mind certainly. 

But Helen was nowhere to be seen. Was it possible that she 
had stayed behind with those stupid cups and saucers, and 
never even come into the room where the show was ? So it ap- 
peared. But the room was nearly dark, and she could not be 
certain. Her height alone must mark her coming in with the 
others, and there was a good deal of confusion ere all were 
seated. 

Suddenly the light was altogether obscured, and she heard a 
low voice close behind her say, — “ No, thank you; this will do 
perfectly.” How in the world had she got there? She must 
have been one of the first to enter. But, then, how had she been 
unobserved ? And where was the end of this retirement any 
more than the other? It was carrying it too far— unless, indeed 
— in the first fiash of light which followed, she. looking round, 
dimly discerned her sister, and, beside her, Mr. Smith. 

The light was so confined to the further end of the room, that 
only to one already half prepared could they have been distin- 
guishable. Helen had shown herself all Helen again. 

Great and enduring was her sister’s satisfaction. There they 
were — the embryo lovers — safely ensconced behind all the faces, 
half concealed by the heavy curtain — she barely visible, he still 
deeper in the shade. When there was light in the room, every 
eye was on the white sheet, with its startling, curious, and 
comic apparitions. In the dark intervals, all was buzz and bus- 
tle; every tongue wagging, and no ear intent on what might be 
going on so close at hand, that it must be innocent. 

That the rest of the company believed theii- host to be engaged 
among the exlubitors, was evident. 

Mrs. Hunt still retained her illuminated face; and Mr. Rod- 
ney made complimentary remarks, loud enough for those on tln^ 
other side of the screen to hear. 

Long and loud was the applause which greeted each succeed 
ing scene. The rustics, well plied with good cheer— ale and pm 
ter— (tea had been only for their wives) elbowed each other for 
the front. Joan forgot her awe of madam and laid a hand upon 


MR. i^MlTH. 


lot 


her knee. Miss Clay allowed herself to be leant upon, knelt 
upon, kneaded into shape, pressed and dirtied by a crew of con- 
fiding little ones. Dr. Hunt attempting to make his way through 
the throng at the door, was fairly told he must remain where he 
was. 

He had the sense to take the prohibition in good part. The 
men knew him, and he them. To-morrow they would recog- 
nize all his title to observance; but this was their night — this 
was their entertainment — they were equal to anything and any- 
body. He understood the case, and gave in with good-humor. 
A sight of his wife's face, and a reassuring nod from her, fur- 
ther helped his patience. 

She was seated in the front row, Maria by her side; and the 
nod was intended to let him know that all was right in that 
quarter. It was not till afterward, however, that she could 
whisper, — 

“ Oh, my dear, I wich you had been here! The tea was really 
magnificent, and Maria quite — Mr. Smith was at her table con- 
stantly. I don’t think he sat down by Miss Clay once.” 

Meantime, Helen had not forgotten her intention of making 
Miss Clay’s acquaintance. When the magic-lantern display was 
over, the first thing Lily saw w^as her sister — emerged from her 
corner, no one could tell how — in the act of bowing to Miss Clay 
— Mr. Smith having just introduced them. 

Miss Clay vvas looking a little uncomfortable, and assenting 
shyly to Miss Tolleton’s graceful nothings. Immediately after, 
Mr. Smith was seized on by the German, desirous of explaining 
some mistake in the programme, and no one ever discovered 
that they had not been together during the whole exhibition. 

Everybody was now eager to get out of doors. 

“ Such a night for fireworks,” Mr. Tolleton observed repeat- 
edly, he did not remember to have seen since the last right he 
had had the good fortune to see fireworks. To this he received 
different replies. Some had never seen really good fireworks 
in their lives. Some had had fireworks themselves, now and 
then, in a small way. Some had never seen fireworks without 
rain; and some never but in favorable weather. Each had his 
own experience to give, and no one listened to that of his 
neighbor. 

Mrs. Hunt hoped that Mr. Smith w^as not thinking of letting 
off any of the fireworks himself. She w as sure it was too cold 
a night for him to be walking about on the wet grass. There 
w^ere plenty of others whom it w^ould do no harm to. He had 
much better stay quietly with the ladies in the drawing-room. 
For her part, she meant to get into the bow-window, where she 
w^as sure she should see everything that there was to be seen. 
She then summoned Maria; but to her amazement, to her almost 
unbelieving satisfaction, Maria declined to come. She w’as going 
out with Mr. Smith to inspect some of the pieces. Mr. Smith had 
asked her; the others were going too, and they had all got 
galoshes. 

Mrs. Hunt said not another word about the wet grass. 

The party set out. Helen and Miss Clay first; the younger 


103 


MR. SMITH. 


Miss Tolletons, one on each side of the resigned curate; Clara 
Hunt, her father, and several waifs and strays of young men, all 
in a bunch, and Mr. Smith — oh, happy moment! — Mr. Smith and 
Maria last of all. 

Mrs. Hunt saw tliem file past — saw Helen leading the way 
with the shy stranger girl, and her sisters hemming in the 
curate, and felt a contemptuous pity for their fate. 

“ They were obliged to take up with the Rodney set, you 
know,” said she afterward. 

Her present observations, however, had to be for Miss Bain— 
that Miss Bain whom Helen Tolleton had selected as a suitable 
wife for Mr. Smith, when he first came amongst them. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE MISS BAINS. 

The Miss Bains, for there were two of them, were spinsters of 
a certain age, who, to use the hackneyed phrase, had seen better 
days. 

This, at least, they constantly affirmed themselves. They lived 
in a small hothouse at Eastvsorld, whose dingy rooms, with their 
low ceilings and unopened windows, had a faint pervading smell 
as of gas escaping. 

They kept a large, lean dog, without whose attendance they 
seldom walked out, and who was supposed to find his meals in 
this way. No one, at least, bad ever seen him fed otherwise. 
Their tables, chairs, and mantelpieces were encumbered with 
relics; and heirlooms of strangely little value were to be found 
in plenty. Their money appeared to be scarce; but they had all 
the remembrance of it. 

In their appearance the sisters harmonized equally little with 
the usual ideas of clean, tidy, trim old-maidenhood. When 
caught in their morning attire, they were slovens, whom one felt 
ought hardly to be looked at. When dressed for company, they 
presented a fantastic mixture of grandeur and disease. Every- 
thing they wore was magnificent, but smitten. Their gowns 
were grease-stained and frayed; their silk stockings had holes; 
their laces were crumpled; and their jewels Chiefly consisted of 
settings without stones. 

They had come to the feast in all these decayed splendors, and 
were now sitting in the bow-window, listening while Mrs. Hunt 
descanted on Mr. Smith. 

“Such a host as he makes, does he not, Miss Lydia? So 
thoughtful for everybody! Such preparations! Fires in all the 
rooms, and no stmt of anything! Do you know, I really believe 
there is a cold supper laid out in the library! The man went in 
with a trayful of glasses as we came past the door; and I just 
caught sight of it through the opening— jellies, turkey, and all!” 

“ You don’t say so, Mrs. Hunt? Well, that really is" too much. 
Dear me! I thought we had done very well, as it was. Marla 
gave me two cups of excellent tea, and Mr. Smith himself made 
me taste the pudding. I can't say but what I was glad to get a 
bittie, for you know we dine early. And then, as we didn’t 


MR. SMITH. 


103 


know exactly what to expect, we just took a snatch, instead of 
our regular meal, meaning to wait and see. If tliere hadn’t been 
anything else, j^ou know, we could have done uncommonly well; 
but if there had it would have been a pity to spoil it. And really 
when I got the pudding I needed nothing extra. Dear me, a 
supper! This is really treating us like princes!” 

“ Bachelors are always the fet of entertainers,” rejoined the 
doctor’s wife. “ If he goes on like this, we shall all get so selfish 
we sha’n’t want him ever to change his state, I’m afraid.” 

“ No, that we sha’n’t!” cried the other little old lady, with 
some eagerness. (People should have no handle for suspecting 
her and Lyddy of opposite desires.) “ We shall not indeed. He 
is a deal better as he is. Dear me! We shouldn’t have been 
half as comfortable here to-night if there had been a lady 
l)residing.” 

“ That depends, of course, on who the lady was,” rejoined Mrs. . 
Hunt, a little shortly. “ To be sure, if Mr. Smith ever does take 
it into his head to marry, and he’s just at the age when many a 
man does, he would have every right to be particular.” 

“Oh, but I should say he was far too comfortable,” put in 
Miss Lyddy. “Not but what I have heard a lady spoken of.” 
(Mrs. Hunt’s heart gave a great throb.) “ And one who would 
well become the position too. A grand lady of the Hill she 
would make. But dear! I say, if there had been anything in it! 
for certain she would have been here to-night. Is it likely she 
would not have come, or that he would have neglected to ask 
her? No, no; there’s no truth in that tale, we may depend 
upon it.” 

“ You’re mysterious, Miss Lydia,” said the doctor’s wife, with 
a little quivering laugh. “ Pray let us first here what the tale 
is. It has never reached my ears, I can tell you. I thought we 
had ladies enough here to-night. There is hardly one left in 
East world, with the exception of poor Mrs. Rodney, who is 
always out of luck when there's anything going on.” 

“ Very true. Poor thing, so she is! But as for the other, she’s 
not an Eastworld lady yet, Mrs. Hunt, though maybe we shall 
see her one some of these days. It’s best not to name names. 
Who’s in that window ?” in a loud voice. “ Anybody there?” 

No voice responding, she resumed her confidential whisper. 

“ It’s best to be cautious when one can’t see around the room. 

I got into such a pucker once through neglecting that, it has 
been a lesson to me ever since. ’Melia and I were staying with 
Jane Bond. Jane is our father’s cousin, you know, on the En- 
glish side, so, of course, we keep up tlie connection. Well, you 
know Jane’s house. It’s all queer twists and corners and holes 
in the wall. One never feels safe in it, at least I’m sure I never 
do, now. This was the story. One day when we liad been 
there about a week, I went into the parlor, and seeing, as I 
thought, only ’Melia sitting by the table; ‘ ’Melia,* says I, ‘I do 
think that beard of Jane's is gi'owing. It’s as big as many a 
lad’s that calls for shaving- water.’ And ’Melia she gave such a 
cough, and look at me, and there was Jane in the window! 
Well, you know, I might have said worse. And very thankful 


104 


MR. SMITH. 


I felt I hadn’t gone on longer. But for all that, I’ve never been 
asked there since, although Jane made believe she didn’t mind, 
and we got over it as well as we could at the time. But it has 
just made me careful ever since, how I name names in a room 
one can’t see all round at once. Who’s there?” diving her head 
forward beyond the curtain, and listening. 

As the silence was unbroken, the other sister took up the nar- 
rative. 

“Jane has never been quite the same to us since. She thinks 
we don’t observe, but for all she sends us bits of letters, and a 
goose at Christmas, there’s a difference. It might have been 
fancy, but we thought we had never eaten a goose as hard 
as we got last year. Perhaps there won’t be one at all this. 
That would be a fine story. We have had our regular goose 
every Christmas these ten years. But no doubt it was a foolish 
thing of Lyddy to do, and she’s sensible of it. The last lime we 
asked Jane here, she took the invitation very high, and showed 
she had no will to come.” 

“ People often pay dear for mistakes, especially from impru- 
dence,” said Mrs. Hunt, sententiously. “ One can’t be careful 
enough. But there’s nobody here for certain to-night, Miss 
Lydia, and I Ihink you might just ” 

“ Oh, dear— dear— dear me! That is magnificent! Where is 
it? Where is it gone?” cried Miss Lyddy, straining her neck 
after the first rocket. “How it made me jump! So that was 
the beginning. I suppose. But they’ll surely not be all like that. 
No, no; the rest are further off, that’s right. Well, I — that was 
perfectly — oh, Mrs. Hunt, don’t lose the sight! There they are! 
There they go! See, see! One after another! ’Melia, look! My 
certy! I’m thankful I’m safe indoors! What if any one should 
be killed! But the doctor’s here, that’s a comfort. There he is, 
too. Th(!re they all are. as plain as a pikestaff! Maria’s white 
frock as blue as blue can be in that queer light. Oh, Mrs. 
Hunt, do you think it’s safe? Do you not think the girls would 
be better in the house, now that it’s all begun ? We can call to 
them, you know. I declare I think we ought.” 

Mrs. Hunt, however, arrested her hand. 

“There’s no fear. Miss Lydia; their father is with them. 
Make your mind easy, Mr. Smith will takt; good care that noth- 
ing happens. Now you must really tell me what it was about 
Mr. Smith and ” 

“ Whew! That was a dandy! That was a—how it made me 
jump! Good gracious, ’Melia, I’m all in a tremble! What do 
they have them so near the house for?” cried the excitable 
creature, as a Roman candle shot off within, as she averred, a 
vard of her elbow! “ If I had only brought my smelling-bottle; 
but the last time it was used we couldn’t get the cork out. 
What a pity it should be left behind! If any one did, you 

know This really is Whew! There’s another! I’m 

sure I don’t know whether Bless me!” 

“Don’t be alarmed, Lyddy,” said the calmer ’Melia, whose 
voice was only a little tremulous; “ it’s startling, but not danger- 
ous, I’m told. Look at those faces under the tree. Poor old 


MR. SMITH. 


105 


Butts and his Jemima, as pleased as possible. Poor Jemima was 
sadly afraid she would have to give it up to-night, her cough has 
been so troublesome. Such nights as she has, poor soul! But 
there she stands, and seems to have forgotten all about it, I 
shall shake my finger at her, though. She ought to come in.” 

No notice was taken of the finger, which was, in fact, quite 
invisible to the threatened Jemima. 

“ Ah! she’ll pay for it by and by,” said ’Melia, with a sense of 
justice. “ Foolish thing! she’s coughing at this moment. Well, 
I’ve done all I could j she must stand on her own feet; the 
blame’s not mine. Bless me! who is that wild-looking — why, 
it’s our Harry! I do declare I might have guessed till midsum- 
mer! Who would have thought of Harry ?” 

“ And there's Bullett, like a great cannibal king!” cried Lyddy, 
with rather a happy hit. "‘One would hardly know Bullett 
without his blutj apron, if it weren’t for Oh, look, he’s hold- 

ing up little Tommy, poor little soul! I didn’t know Tommy 
was here to-night. I must really find them out afterward. I 
suppose Bullett supplied the meat, ’Melia ?” 

“ And there’s Mr. Smith and Maria — and the rest,” added Mrs. 
Hunt, whose eyes had all this time been wandering among the 
different groups in search of them. What was Jemima, or Bul- 
lett, or any one else to her, compared with these two great orbs 
in her heavens ? She had not listened to a word of the old lady’s 
exclamations. 

“ There they all are! Close at hand, now, Miss Lydia, under 
the great oak. There now, at your left — don’t you see them, the 
whole party ?” 

“I see them; I see them now^, Mrs. Hunt. Dear me! how 
strange they do look! Maria quite picturesque. Which are the 
rest? Ah! there’s Helen Tolleton, graceful creature! She’s 
holding the stick. What for, I wonder? Did you ever — she^ 
was as close to it as I am to you!” 

Helen had held the rocket for Mr. Smith to fire; and when the 
display ^9^as over, she walked with him through the shrubbery 
back to the house. Thus much she permitted him. By her con- 
trivance Maria had by far the greater share of his attention. He 
himself did not discover this. Lily did, and it amused her. Of 
the others, those most interested noted it with inward rapture, 
the rest were otherwise engrossed. 

Maria Hunt was not supposed to be a captivating girl. 

All suspicion, however, was diverted from the Tolletons. 
Mrs. Hunt took Helen under her wing, and hoped she had not 
got her pretty dress spoilt; while the doctor said it was more 
important that she had not got her pretty throat sore. 

For his part he expected to call at every house next day, after 
such a mad escapade. He w’as in such a good humor, that he 
absolutely talked “ shop.” 

Mr. Smith had been easily managed. He was thinking chiefly 
of his guests and their enjoyment; a little of Miss Tolleton, and 
not at all of Miss Hunt. How she was so often by his side, it 
had not occurred to him to wonder. She was too insignificant. 

But he had wondered a little — he had felt a little hurt with 


106 


ME. SMITH. 


Helen. Slie appeared to be keeping out of liis way. Could 
he have offended her? She had never been more gracious, 
more winning, thau when they sat together in the dark cor- 
ner, while the magic-lantern was going on. He had reckoned 
on her walking with him, and she had sped off with Miss Clay. 

He had asked her to come and inspect some arrangement, aiid 
she had come, but Miss Clay was with her. Then, when he 
wanted some one to hold his rocket, she had stepped forward, as 
the rest hung back. He had thanked her gi-avely, and she had 
walked home by his side. She kept h^m in a perpetual ferment. 

The entertainment, however, was drawing to a close. He 
must clear his mind from all personal thoughts. None must feel 
neglected or overlooked. 

They were summoned to collect around the front door. The 
ladies assembled inside the hall, and Mr. Rodney stepped for- 
ward to deliver the short addfess which he had prepared. It 
was not much of an address, but it did what was wanted. It 
sobered, softened the exhilarated party; and even those in whose 
hearts it found no ready echo, listened with respectful toleration. 
“ Rodney, he’s a good chap, and a pity he warn’t rector.” And 
then they cheered loudly, and began to move slowly off in 
groups toward the village. 

Little Tommy had fallen asleep, and Jemima’s cough made 
itself heard as they went by. The whole air was impregnated 
with tobacco. The sides of the walks were sadly injured. 

Mr. Smith, however, stood, with uncovered head and serene 
brow, happy in the happiness he had given; nor would he allow 
the hall-door to be closed until the last step retreated down the 
avenue. 

The supper which Mrs. Hunt had so cleverly discovered was 
then announced; and the party, disencumbered of their wraps, 
• and with smoothed hair and glowing cheeks, adjourned to the 
other room. 

One other discovery Mrs. Hunt had made. She could not have 
slept in her bed that night otherwise. She had forced from Miss 
Lyddy’s lips the name of the lady who was spoken of as the pos- 
sible mistress of the Hill. 


CHAPTER XV. 

TffE END OF THE FEAST. 

“ May I sit by you?” said Helen to Miss Clay, as the party ar- 
ranged themselves round the supper-table. 

There had been no formal going in — every one went as they 
chose. Miss Clay had taken a seat about the middle of the table, 
exactly underneath the chandelier. A more brilliant-looking 
creature than Helen Tolleton, as she emerged from the doorway, 
and took the chair beside her in this center of light and radiance, 
could hardly have been imagined. Her pale face was lit up by 
the excitement and the evening air. She had come forth ttom 
her chrysalis state of obscurity and retirement, and spread her 
wings — the gay, triumphant butterfly. 

Who but she could have taken the scarlet bouquet from her 


MR. SMITH. 


107 


place, and inserted it so suddenly, so ooquettislily, among lier 
dark coils? Who but she kept up that fire of fuu and repartee 
with old Bartlett the banker; turned the wretched head of the 
red-haired clerk; and made even the gentle curate confide after- 
ward in the safe, true, loving, wifely ear, which received all his 
secrets, that he had adniv^ed, though he could not approve 9 

Mr. Smith was even startled. 

He broke off twice in the middle of his conversation with the 
banker’s wife, and let a whole sentence of Mrs. Hunt’s fall un- 
heeded to the ground, while he stared at Helen. 

V/hat was she doing down there? How had she the power, 
go as low as she would, to make that place a center? Here 
again she had slid beyond his reach; and though no longer hid 
in a corner, though rather the cynosure of all eyes, yet not shin- 
ing for him. 

It made him discontented. He could see the eyes bent upon 
her, the listening heads, the stolen glances, returning more and 
more frequently. He could hear the loud applause of the older 
men, and note the more meaning silence of the younger. He 
even fancied, but this might have been merely a fancy, that a 
cloud, a depression, a change of some sort, had come over the 
faces of those who were not bo\ring to the goddess. 

Some of his lady guests looked grave. 

Mrs. Hunt too had lost her animation. Although Lyddy Bain, 
who was a stupid creature, and one that never could see half a 
yard in front of her, might put no faith in the story she was 
herself promulgating, Mrs. Hunt, who piqued herself oh the ac- 
curacy of her perceptions, and more especially on the length of 
her vision, could not feel so easy on the subject. 

She had been all her life gifted with powers of discernment. 
She could always tell events that were likely to take place long 
before any one else had dreamt of them. She knew things be- 
fore people knew themselves. In short, to listen to her, she was 
a prophet arisen in the later days. 

The name Lyddy had whispered was that of Miss Fulton; and 
so much had Lyddy heard of Mr. Smith’s being at the Hall, and 
of the Admiral’s attentions, and Miss Fulton’s suitability, that it 
w’as poor consolation to Mrs. Hunt to find that her only grounds 
for disbelief consisted in the lady’s absence from the feast. 

“ If she had been here, you know, it would have been as clear 
as day,” said she. 

Now there were twenty reasons why Miss Fulton should not 
be there. For one thing, the Fultons gave themselves airs. For 
the sake of ten thousand a year, and a husband of her own age. 
Miss Fulton might consent to be Mr. Smith’s wife, but she had 
never yet mixed with the Eastworld people. The Tolletons 
alone, of all present, had her acquaintance. Mrs. Hunt did not 
know how fast that acquaintance was being withered up, under 
the blight of Lady Sauffrenden’s frown. It was possible— more 
than possible — that if Miss Fulton had been invited, she had ex- 
cused herself. 

She was not a rival to be despised. She was only too formida- 
ble. As she looked at Maria, Maria now faded into insignifi- 


108 


MR. SMITH. 


cance, dull and overlooked by every oue, the old feeling of dis- 
satisfaction arose within her. 

It was this, and not Helen Tolleton’s shining sunlight, which 
caused her to look thoughtful. 

Still she made a good supper. She was determined to have 
nothing to regret, in looking back upon that well- filled board. 

She took lobster, knowing that the doctor would have frowned 
upon her; and tui*ned her head the other way while her second 
glass of champagne was being poured out. 

She would just get one word with Lyddy before they went 
away. 

Lyddy, however, had more important things on her mind. 

“Just see, Mrs. Hunt, was there ever anything more tiresome ? 
I had pinned the napkin all round, and thought it was as safe as 
could be. My best dress! The Macbain tartan! It is always 
the way whenever we put them on. If there’s a spot of oil, or 
wine, or tea, or an5i;hing that won’t come out, it always happens 
that it’s on the Macbain tartans. I declare, I think we must 
just lock them by, or they’ll be spoilt altogether. Eh ? What 
did you say ?” For Mrs. Hunt had at length contrived to edge in 
her remark about Miss Fulton. 

“ Miss Fulton? Oh, Mrs. Bartlett tells me I’m quite mistaken, 
and, to her certain knowledge. Miss Fulton would never look at 

liim. There’s somebody else Yes, indeed, Miss Clay. I do 

think everybody has. It would be a shame. I’m sure, if they 
hadn’t. It’s many a day since I have been at anything so 
grand at any rate. ’Melia, do look here. Shall I put on cold water 
at once ? I dabbed my handkerchief in at table, but I have not 
put it on yet. What do you think ?” 

“You had better leave it till you get home, and try benzine,” 
recommended Mrs. Hunt. “ V\^o was the somebody else. Miss 
Lydia?” 

“ Benzine?” said Lyddy, looking round as if expecting to see 
it. “ But I doubt that we haven’t any. Besides, do you think 
it would be safe?” 

“ Perfectly safe on a good silk like that.’*’ Mrs. Hunt was bent 
on propitiating. “ But I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll bring in 
my bottle to-morrow morning early, and rub it in myself. If 
benzine won’t take it out, nothing will.” 

It was no use trying to get anything further out of Lyddy that 
Jiight; she must take her quietly next day. 

By twelve o’clock supper was over, and the great business of 
cloaking, bonneting, hatting, going on. 

Helen, the vivid rose-color still in her cheek, came up with her 
sisters to make their adieux. They were the first to depart. 
Their host was surrounded on every side. The few frank words 
of thanks for their pleasant evening, were spoken in the hearing 
of all who chose to listen. 

Miss Bain’s gratitude was much more humble, Mrs. Hunt’s in- 
finitely more complimentary. 

Mr. Rodney spoke warmly on behalf of the parish; and Mr. 
Bartlett, who had been listening to him, did his best to continue 
in the same strain. 


MR. SMITH. 


109 


AIL agreed that tlie evening had passed otf to admiration. 
Even Bullett, the grumbling butcher, as he made out his bill for 
the rounds and sirloins, was won over so far as to modify his 
complaint into the generous desire that so deserving a gentle- 
man should have been blest with a family. 

After the feast there was a period of stagnation in the neighbor- 
hood. 

Christmas was coming, and every one was saving up for Christ- 
mas. The SaufiPrendens, it is true, dined once at Fulton Hall, — 
Mr. Smith having been asked to meet them. But Mr. Smith was 
not there; and the Admh'al, with his usual adjuration, declared 
he was the slipperiest eel to oasket he had ever met with. Cor- 
nelia had no notion of landing him herself, and he couldn’t work 
with another person’s tackle. 

The plague of it was, that all the time, he had to be so minc- 
ingly particular in what he said; for if Corny once took it into 
that fly-away head of hers that there was anything in the wind, 
she would be off like a shot. 

No glimmer of his common-sense was therefore to reach her 
foolish mind. He must keep it close, close. 

To the Sauffrendens he merely observed that their new neigh- 
bor appeared to shut himself up pretty tight; they never met 
him anywhere. 

“That was a grand affair at his house the other day,” said 
Lord Sauffrenden. 

The Admiral pricked up his ears. 

“ Ah ? eh ? I didn’t hear of it. Was it ” 

“ A tenant’s or workman’s dinner, or something of that sort. 
We saw the fireworks from our windows.” 

“ Indeed ! ah ! very nice ; ve-ry nice,” condescendingly. 
“ These kind of things, now, are just what we want. Very nice 
—delightful. Cornelia there is up to her eyes in them. We 
must have one at the Hall — eh. Corny ? Ask the Reverend about 
it ” (by this name he was accustomed to designate his brother), 
“ and we’ll have Smith over to give us the cue.” 

Mr. Smith, however, was again unable to swallow the tempting 
bait, and no more was heard of the treat at the Hall. 

Mr, Smith was suffering, as Mrs. Hunt had said he would, 
from the effects of walking about on the wet grass among the 
fireworks. 

The warmth of the rooms, with the draughts of cold air insep- 
arable from such an occasion, had perhaps as much to do with it 
as the wet grass. 

So, at least, the doctor said. He, like the butcher, having 
prognosticated no good accruing to himself from the new-comer, 
was, like him, agreeably surprised. 

It was true that he had long since ceased to mourn over Mr. 
Smith’s bachelorhood. If Maria could only be installed mistress 
of the Hill, he thought he should never regret anything again. 
Never regret in the dark, that is to say. 

He had begun to hope that this almost too fair vision might 
really come to pass. With his own eyes he had seen the host 
escorting his daughter about at the feast; and his wife had, al- 


no 


MR. SMITH. 


most with tears of joy, assured him of his attentions to her during 
the earlier portion of the evening. “Miss Fulton! Pah!’’ said she; 

“ I don’t care that for Miss Fulton! I believe it was all a cock- 
and-bull story of that creature, Lyddy Bains.” 

“Their man rode in at the gate, as I left this morning, how- 
ever,” said her husband uneasily. 

“ Brown horse?” 

“ Yes, yes; I know the fellow. James Galt. I had to attend 
him when he broke his collar-bone. I spoke to him to-day.” 

“ Then I tell you what, Robert; just speak a little about Maria - 
now and then, and see how be takes it. It will be easy enough 
when you are up there so often.” 

The "doctor took her advice. The result was satisfactory. The 
horizon again cleared. 

Mr. Smith showed no reluctance to enter on the subject. He 
even politely continued it. He admired the doctor’s woolen 
comforter, Maria’s work. One was eagerly offered him, and only 
declined because he had never worn one in his life. On this oc- 
casion it was earnestly recommended. After such a chill and 
sore throat, Dr. Hunt considered that he must be wrapped up. 
He could not answer for the consequences if he would not wear 
a comforter, and indeed (laughing) he should set his daughter to 
work that very day. Thus beset, of course Mr. Smith had 
yielded. The comforter was to be worn; and Mrs. Hunt hurried 
out directly she heard of it, to buy the best double Berlin the 
village could supply. 

“ Ah, T wish she could have made a waistcoat like that Helen 
Tolleton sent to some one of her gtmtlemen,” said she, regretful- 
ly. “I don’t know how it is, my girls’ fingers are all thumbs. 

It is a perfect miracle Maria’s knowing how to do this, even.” 

Maria made no difficulty about the undertaking. She had be- 
come much more reconciled to her cruel situation than she had 
ever thought possible. By her father’s aiccount, Mr. Smith was 
so much in love. 

Clare, indeed was a little skeptical. “Papa meets things half- 
way, you know,” said she. ‘ ‘ He hears bits, and then he puts in 
the rest.” 

To her surprise, however, Maria demurred to this. 

She still declared, indeed, that it was dreadful to have it so, 
but it became apparent that she did not quite desire to have the 
dread removed. Having tasted the sweets of consequence, she 
could not all at once resign them. She began to think that Clare, 
with all her wisdom, might be mistaken sometimes. Mamma, 
who could always find out if there were anything to complain 
of, was satisfied; and Clare knew as well as she did, that if there 
really were nothing in it, mamma would go on dreadfully. 

As for herself she hated the idea, but (sagaciously) she could 
not shut her eyes to facts. Mr. Smith had hung about her all 
that night; and had certainly never spoken one half as much to 
any of the other girls— not even to the Tolletons, not even to 
Helen. 

“ Helen kept out of his way,” said Clare, bluntly. 

“ So did T, I’m sure; as much as ever I could. I only walked 


MR. SMTTH. 


Ill 


with him because I couldn't help it. Helen always shoved me 
back, and then got away herself. How could rnarnma fancy 
Helen would ever look at him ? All evening she was running 
awa^’^ from him.” 

“ How could he speak to her, then ?” 

“ I never said he did, Clare; I know he didn’t. But then I 
tried to get away from him too, and he followed me. I did not 
wish to speak to him any more than she, but I couldn’t help it.” 

Maria, being thus convinced, set to work at her comforter, and 
all went smoothly in the doctor’s house, with only a dim shadow 
in the distance looming in the shape of Miss Fulton. 

At the end of a fortnight Mr. Smith came down-stairs. 

He had had another hurried visit from Sir George Lorrimer, 
with whom at this time he had business transactions. Sir George 
had summoned him to town, but hearing he was unwell, got his 
papers together, and ran down to the Hill instead. 

He stayed a day or two, and when he was gone, the stagnation 
in the neighborhood began to communicate itself in an alarming 
manner to the lonely man. 

Only a fortnight before, and all had been so gay, so lively; now 
the life and the spirit of it was gone. A common experience in 
country life. Everything at a standstill. People you have been 
meeting three or four times a week, suddenly fall out of your 
path. An enchanted sleep steals over the place. 

Into this sleep the neighborhood of Eastworld fell. 

Mr. Smith thought often and wearily of Freelands. Why did 
he hear nothing of his friends there ? Was he forgotten ? He 
thought so. 

But he was not. It was they who thought him remiss. 

Had it only been known that Sir George Loirimer had left, all 
would have been right. But they thought Sir George was there. 
If so, it was impossible to carry on matters. Lily indeed sug- 
gested an invitation to dinner to both gentlemen; but Helen more 
wise, shook her Iiead. 

Sir George was all very well for once. The luncheon had be(m 
a success, but it would be foolish to risk more. Besides, they 
had no right to ask him. He might think it officious, and it 
would never do if he were to express this opinion to Mr. Smith. 

“ When he brought him here!” said Lily. 

“ Yes, I know it could be done. And if we had the chance of 
meeting him, and asking him ourselves, it might be different; 
but to send a note up! I don’t know quite how Mr. Smith would 
take it.” 

“ He should not have asked to bring him here, then.” 

“ You know, Lily, he never asked. It was we ourselves in- 
sisted on his bringing the old friend.” 

“Ay, the old friend,” said Lily, laughing, “but not the young 
man. " Not that sort of friend at all. You know best, Nell3\ 
But I should be afraid if we take no notice of hiiq for so long: 
he will think we are drawing back.” 

“ Nonsense! If he does, I can soon make up for it. How 
stupid of papa not to find out when Sir George is going!” 

“Going, my dear!” exclaimed her father, awoke from a 


113 


MR. SMITH. 


gentle doze by the sound of “ papa.” “ I forgot to tell you Sir 
George is gone.” 

‘ ‘ Gone ? "W hen ? To-day ?” 

“ Oh, dear, no, some days ago. It was that stupid Jessamy’s 
mistake. I went in on Monday to get some — stuff, and he had 
a long story about a gentleman who was staying at the Hill, and 
had been down — of course I thought he meant the minute be- 
fore. So then I thought it as well not to inquire at the post- 
office. Indeed I was glad to get off, for I have had to go after 
so many people there, that they must think I know curiously 
little of the movements of my friends. By the way, those new 
people came to the Lodge yesterday. We must call at once, 
Helen.” 

“ But how did you find out about Sir George ?” said Helen. 

She and Lily were both looking rather crestfallen. Sir George 
gone — what had Mr. Smith been about? Gone too, perhaps. 

“ I met Hunt. He had just been to the Hill. Smith has had 
a nasty feverish attack. Cold and sore throat, and that sort of 
thing. Sir George had been gone some days.” 

The girls’ faces brightened. A cold was infinitely better than 
a friend. A cold could be treated for, easily. Their misgivings 
gave way to cheerful hope. 

” Do you know,” said Mr. Tolleton, striking his thumbs in his 
waistcoat- pockets, and looking serious, “ I think 1 ought to have 
called upon Sir George. It never occurred to me till too late, 
but I am afraid he will have taken it amiss. What do you think, 
Helen?” 

“ Oh, nonsense, papa!” replied Helen, not very respectfully. 
“ Sir George must have been here only two days, and how were 
we to be supposed to know he was here at aU? If it had been a 
longer visit!” 

“ Well, but the time before. The time he came to luncheon.” 

“ He left almost directly. I found out that for you. I meant 
you to have called if he had only stayed three days. But I 
don’t think we want him. The thing is now, what can we do 
for Mr. Smith ?” 

Mr. Tolleton looked astonished at this trifling way of dis- 
missing a grave business. Sir George Lorrimer had been 
neglected. He had not been called upon. It was the girls who 
xvere to blame. Why had he not been packed off with his cards, 
and the inevitable note in his pocket? They ought to have seen 
to it, and now they did not care. Helen had called it “ non- 
sense.” 

Helen was deep in thought. “ Could you not lend him 
books ?” 

“Who? Mr. Smith? My dear, he has a fine library. What 
books could I take him that he has not got already?” 

“ He might consider it an attention.” 

“ Pay him attention in some other way. There are plenty of 
things he would rather have than books,” said Mr. Tolleton, 
judging by himself. “ Go up and see him.” 

“ Papa! But you can go.” 

‘ Ay, I knew it would be that. A nasty new avenue, too, 


MR. SMITH. 


113 


that spoils all my boots. Well, I suppose I must, though he 
won’t thank me for coming, much. Can’t you come with me, 
Helen ?" 

“ No, indeed, papa, it would never do.’" 

“Why not? We could go by the plantation and the short 
cut, and nobody he the wiser.” 

“Mr. Smith would.” 

“ Well, he would be delighted.” 

“ 1 daresay he might, but all the same ” Then she stopped 

to consider. “ If I felt sure he would not tliink it improper, I 
should like to go very much.” 

“ Improper! What an idea!” cried Lily. “ Helen playing 
propriety V 

“ You never will see,” retorted Helen, angrily, “ that it is not I. 
I don't care two straws about those things myself, I’m not such 
a prig. But I certainly do not wish to take all the trouble of 
going up to see Mr. ^mith, if it is only to go down in his opinion.” 

Then she thought of her walk to the view. To go up, under 
her father’s wing, and pay Mr. Smith a visit as an invalid, and 
an old gentleman, was not, she well knew, half as improper in 
reality as their taking a private walk together by appointment. 

But there was something in going to the house. There was 
something in facing the servants, in walking past the windows. 
She gave to every consideration its due weight. 

“ If I do go ” she began. 

“Go? Yes, by all means,” interrupted her sister. “Go, and 
suggest tolu and paregoric, and all the rest of it. Go, and be as 
charming as ever you can. Now is your time. You will do him 
more good than all the medicines in Dr. Hunt's medicine-chest. 
1 would go too, only I think it might look more affectionate your 
going alone.” 

Helen looked dubious. She did not care for its looking so very 
affectionate, but neither did she wish for her sister’s company. 
She liked to have Mr. Smith all to herself. 

‘Well, will you come?” inquired her father. 

“I think I will. It is not as if he could think himself a young 
man. And we can go, as you say, by the ])lantatiou. We might 
merely ask how he is, you know; and if we are asked in, you 
might go, and leave me outside, or something of that sort. If 
he is sitting in the drawing-room, he will see us pass, and know 
I am there. Then if he asks me to go in, I could do it. After 
aU, I think I will go.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

I ONLY HOPE IT WILL GO ON SNOWING. 

A WEARY man sat wearily by his dull fireside. He had seen 
no one all day except the doctor, who had called early, and 
stayed rather a shorter time than usual. He had read, and writ- 
ten, and arranged papers, and taken a nap, and looked at the 
clock, times without number, and still the unyielding hands 
pointed only to the hour of four. 

It was the darkest, dreariest, weariest December day. A day 


114 


MR, SMITH, 


on which everything seemed monotonous; a great round of stu- 
pidity. Meal-times were the only breaks, and they filled up 
again all too soon. Spun out to their fullest lengtli, they aver- 
aged half an hour each, and what was half an hour? A mere 
drop in that great bucket of time — that hopeless, woful day. 

Four o’clock! It was vain to look for any change. He must 
wait from four till five, and from five till six, and from six till 
— no, he would have dinner half an hour sooner; he really 
could not drag on till seven. 

His hand was on the bell, but it was arrested; another bell 
pealed through the house. 

Vain as he had declared it to look for a change, vain to hope 
that any kind wind would blow a waif of Fortune to his door, he 
at once jumped to the happiest conclusion — “ Visitors!” 

The next step was to poke the fire into a blaze, to push the 
chairs into order, and then to wait nervously for what might be 
to follow. 

What if it were nothing after all ? A mistake. The wrong 
house. A tradesman’s bill, A ” 

“Mr. and Miss Tolleton!” announces the footman, in a loud 
cheerful voice, and Mr. Smith’s highest hopes are fulfilled. Nay, 
he had never dared to hope for this. 

“My daughter would hardly come in,” began Mr. Tollelou, 
starting on his lesson with the precipitation of one who has 
learnt it in a hurry; “ she was so afraid of disturbing you. But 
it is beginning to snow a little, and I insisted on her not re- 
maining out in the cold.” 

“I should have been very much disappointed if you had,” 
said Mr. Smith, looking at her. “ I was going to thank you for 
giving me this pleasure, and now you have spoilt all. I find it 
was only on compulsion.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” continued her father, going on with his part; 
“it was just that. She came on compulsion. She did not wish 
to come in at all.” 

“Papa,” said Helen, laughing, “you are very rude to Mr. 
Smith. We thought, you know,” turning to him, “ that it 
would only be a bore to you to have people; but hearing you 
were unwell, we felt we should like to know how you were. 
All we wanted waste know that you were better.” 

“ And your man would have us in,” added her father, won- 
dering what she could have meant by telling him he was rude, 
after he had been drilled into saying the very things he had said. 
“ Nothing else would do. I wanted him at least to ask — but no; 
he looked quite affronted at the idea.” 

“ And well he might be,” said his master. “ John knows bet- 
ter than that. I really believe he has felt a spark of human 
pity for me to-day. He gave me a pathetic look when he came 
in with luncheon, and provided an extra roll. If he had let me 
be cheated out of the only pleasant thing I have had since morn- 
ing, he would have deserved dismissal on the spot.” 

“ You have had a dull time of it,” said Mr. Tolleton, with in- 
terest. “I wish I had known; I would have called much 
sooner,” 


Mr. smith. 115 

He was very kind. Mr. Smith would have been glad of his 
company. Anew he pressed his regrets. 

“ T can regret nothing now,” said the host, courteously. 

He was looking at Helen, and she caught him in tlie act. 

How could he help looking at her? She had come to be looked 
at. 

“ And what have you been doing with yourself?” said she, at 
last. It was time for her father to subside. 

“ Reading, most of the day.” 

A pile of books lay on one side of the sofa; she took one up and 
read the title. 

You may have heard of it,” said he, playfully. His spirits 
had all returned. 

“ Bunyau’s ‘Pilgrim’s Progress.’ But I thought that was a 
child’s book.” 

“ If it is, I am a child in enjoying it. It is a great book of 
mine. Those are good illustrations, are they not ?” 

“Yes, beautiful.” 

“ That is the land of Beulah you see — one of the best, I 
think; and this of the shepherd boy — the shepherd boy in the 
Valley of Humiliation. One of the most touching parts in the 
book; don’t you think so?” 

“Very pretty. I remember something about a boy, though it 
is a long time ago,” said Miss Tolleton, feeling that a boy could 
never interest her as a man would. 

“ Yes, so it is; how long ago you may imagine. I can remem- 
ber it!” said he, misunderstanding her. “ It is one of the earliest 
recollections of my life. My mother had a curious old copy with 
dried cotton rushes in it, and a Giant Despair the size of a whole 
page. How tlie scent of that book in the cotton rushes came 
before me to-day! I don’t know that anything brings back as- 
sociations more strongly than a faint w^ell-remembered scent. 
Something must have brought it up, though I could not find out 
what.” 

“Camphor?” cried she, eagerly catching at a subject on 
which she was again at home. “ Don’t you know how the 
smell of camphor seems to open an old drawer, and show you 
all the strange old brocaded gowns, and fur boas, and flapping 
hats?” 

“ That is a lady’s experience,” said Mr. Smith, laughing. “ Mr. 
Tolleton, you must not keep looking out of the window all the 
time. It is going to snow, snow, snow for the next four-and- 
twenty hours.” 

Mr. Tolleton looked blank. “I hope not, sir; I’m sure.” 

“ Why, it will not matter to you. You are safe within doors 
now, and when I do release my prisoners, I shall send them 
home. Pray, make yourself easy. You will not get away for 
some time, I can tell you.” 

“ Oh, there is no hurry; only if it goes on like this ” 

“The roads wdll not impassable for strong horses like 
mine.” 

“Take out your horses on such a day! I couldn’t think of 
it, sir.” 


116 


MR. SMITH. 


“Why not? It will be a treat to them to get out. They 
have had no exercise, except what the groom gives them, for 
three weeks. 

“No, no. Helen, we could not do that, could we? This 
snow is nothing; it will clear off in a quarter of an hour. We 
can walk home nicely'.” 

“Oh dear, yes, papa; it is no distance.” 

“Very well,” said Mr. Smith, ringing the bell; “ we shall see. 
You are not going yet, at all events. John, bring tea, and ask 
Mrs. Bacon to let us have some German cakes. Now,” turning 
to Helen, “ let me see you take off your hat, and look at home.” 
The words slipped out before he meant. 

“But what if other people come in? I should look rather 
odd.” No, he need not think they had escaped her; they were 
music in her ears. 

“Look outside, and see if that is probable. No, trust me, I 
shall have no other neighbors as kind as you. No one else 
would come out who could stay at home.” 

So saying, he put another log on the fire, and she quietly laid 
aside her hat. 

“ And this ?” said he, touching her warm fur. 

She put it off also. 

“ Well, you look very snug,” said her father, after a minute’s 
contemplation. “ I — I think I shall take off my gaiters.” 

“ Do!” cried his host — “ do! Now this is cliarming; now I feel 
I am not altogether alone in the world. It is something to live 
in a place where there are friends like this. You have read me 
a lesson. I had been a regular misanthrope all day.” 

Mr. Tolleton laughed from not knowing what to say. A dep- 
recating, complimentary laugh. A laugh that was ready to 
follow any lead pointed out to it. 

“ So you see it is worth the sacrifice,” continued Mr. Smith. 

“Sacrifice! I can answer for it there is no sacrifice,” ex- 
claimed Mr. Tolleton, who knew now what he was about. 
“None on my part, I can tell you; and as for Helen, she looks 
uncommonly well pleased with everything.” 

“ Indeed,” said she, turning her smiling face toward him, “ I 
only hope it will go on snowing.” 

Oh, how pleasant it all was! 

Attracted by the now radiant firelight, a large black cat here 
strolled out from beneath the sofa, looking half asleep. “Oho, 
pussy! are you there? 1 thought you had gone to the kitchen,” 
said her master, stroking the soft back as she fawned against his 
legs. “ There!” lifting h^er upon his companion’s knee. ‘ Now, 
lie down and behave yourself. Many a cat would give a great 
deal to be where you are.” 

Helen’s long white fingers sank in the fur, and she twisted 
pussy’s ears, and pulled out its claws, with quite the air of a cat 
lover. She really did like creatures. If the cat had not been 
Mr. Smith’s, and he had not with his own hand lifted it up, she 
would still have allowed it to snuggle on her knee. 

It was some time before tea came, and Miss Tolleton suspected 
they were not accustomed to it in the bachelor household. 


MJl, SMITH. 


117 


When John did at length appear, he formed a contrast to the 
expert Corker. The tray was borne in before him, but seeing no 
place vacant, it was borne out again. Reappearing trayless, it 
was evident, that but for the company, lie would have .scratched 
his head. Tlie library table was commodious, but far from the 
fire and from every one. There was only one other in the room, 
and it was covered. His master’s “ Take off the books, John, 
and bring that table here!” w as a blessed relief. 

“ Your low tables delighted me so, that 1 have taken the lib- 
erty of copying 1 hem,” said he. “ I sent an order toGillow’s the 
same week, but they are not arrived yet. This is an old- 
fashioned tea-table, but I know you will take charge of it for 
me.” 

Of course she would, she liked it all the better. The fine white 
tablecloth, with the formal set out, the painfully precise plates 
and knives, the great silver butter-pail, and the hissing urn, so 
unlike the little knowing arrangements at Freelands, seemed to 
suit her at that moment better than anything else. 

“ If you please, sir,” said John, in a sepulchral whisper, ere he 
left the room, “ Hr. Bow ling is come, sir.” 

“Come? lam glad to liear it. I shall see him by and by. 
But he ought not to have come on such a day.” 

“ Are we keeping you from any one now, pray ” began Mr. 

Tolleton; but his host said hastily, and again unconsciously ad- 
dressing the daughter, “ Indeed, no. It is only my butler, who 
has been ill and at home for two months, I shall be right glad 
to have him back again. John!” 

The footman stopped. 

“ Any one else come?” 

“Yes, sir; they’re all here. The woman ” 

“ Tell Mrs. Bacon to take good care of them. She knows all 
about it. Poor creatures! To think of coming on such a day.” 

Helen looked ready to be sympathetic. “ A poor family come 
to be looked after. Perhaps they will do for one of the lodges, 
Miss Tolleton. We must design some more plans some day.” 

Miss Tolleton was brightly acquiescent. But what an odd idea 
to have a w^hole family of poor people arriving in that way! 
What an odd man! She rather liked him for it. As for 
lodges, she w^as ready for them to any amount. 

“ What a pretty urn!” exclaimed Mr. Tolleton, with great 
earnestness. “ What a very pretty urn! I really think it is the 
prettiest urn I ever saw !” 

The difficulty of maintaining conversation with Mr. Smith, 
when Mr. Smith would answer everything he said, to his 
daughter, almost overcame him. It was all right, of course, 
and very satisfactory that it should be so. But still he felt he 
ought to make himself heard sometimes. After the way he 
had talked at his owmi house too. He could think of nothing 
now. Even to have the tea-urn to admire was something. 

• They did not want him, those two, chatting away side by side 
on the sofa. Apparently they found plenty to say to each other, 
and he felt that if it were possible for him to subtract the new's- 
paper from under Mr. Smith's feet, he might read it comfort - 


118 


MR. SMITH. 


ably, without his voice ever being missed. It was a little hard, 
that for decency’s sake this privilege should be debarred him. 

Helen seated "herself at the table. How she enjoyed the Ger- 
man cakes, and her second cup of tea! She had given herself 
up to the pleasures of the passing hour. 

“ This is so much nicer than dinner,” said she, sincerely. 

Her father looked up, alarmed. Was it possible there were 
designs upon his dinner. 

“ Don’t be afraid for me, papa., I cannot resist these delicious 
cakes, and I never care about dinner.” 

“ But, my dear, I suppose — you don’t mean that there is — 
eh?” 

“Oh, dear, no; I am no bird of ill omen. Your dinner is 
quite safe, papa. I was merely thinking of myself.” 

“ Ah, you will be glad enough of yours too by and by. A 
sharp walk wdll soon bring back your appetite.” 

“ Meantime there is no chance of the walk,” said Mr. Smith, 
pointing to the wdndow, against which the snowflakes were fall- 
ing faster than before. “Pray, Mr. Tolleton. let us hear no 
more about that walk. If it clears at all, it will be dark by that 
time. You would not be so cruel a^ to leave me for a long time 
yet! Let us forget all about it, until it is time to send to the 
stables.” 

All this was to Helen, in spite of the opening appeal to her 
father. 

She looked at the window, looked at her host, said “Thank 
you,” and the thing was settled. 

By and by she resumed her seat upon the sofa. Whether he 
motioned her to it, or whether she had gone of her own accord, 
she hardly knew. 

Black pussy reasserted its rights. 

“ Is it always here?” said she. 

“ It generally manages to And its way here in the course of 
the day.” 

“ And have you had it k'Ug?” 

“ Several years — about five years, I think. But some friends 
had charge of it for me till lately.”- 

“It reminds me of one I have seen somewhere. Ah, I know I 
It was at Aytoun Abbey.” 

“ Aytoun Abbey! Of course it was; it was my very cat. How 
curious! how extraordinary! Poor pussy! I suppose it could 
hardly be expected to remember you. Yes,” he continued, in a 
slightly constrained voice; “ Mrs. Aytoun kept it for me all the 
time I was in Greece. They are coming to spend Christmas at 
Sauffrenden, and, I daresay, will like to see my pussy again.” 

All the time bespoke, he was looking her steadily in the face, 
and she as steadily was looking at him. 

(“Can she have heard?”) 

(“ Can he have heard ?”) 

Then they began again. Helen spoke first: but for every word 
she said aloud, a mocking monitor within said two. 

“It was Colonel Aytoun whom my father knew; but our 
knowh'dge of him was v^y slight. It is several years since I 


MR. SMITH. 


Ill) 


stayed at the Abbey.” (“Coming to Sauffrenden! The very 
man of all men 1 should hate to have there! How dreadful! 
how intolerable! I must not think of it, or I shall show it in my 
face. I must be on my guard.”) “ They are old friends of yours, 
then, I suppose!” 

“Yes; very old— acquaintances.” What! he had a voice 
within, too. (“ That man shall never be owned as a fri(>nd by 
me. She can have heard nothing, however, or she would never 
have said this.”) 

“ It will be pleasant to meet, if it be only for a few days.” 

(“ Oh, if it were only for a few days, we might manage; but if 
it should be for long!”) 

“Yes; Lady Sauffrenden and Mrs. Aytoun are first cousins, 
though Mrs. Aytoun is considerably older. This is their first 
visit.” 

“ They came in the old days, it was there we met him,” said 
Helen. She was bent on taking the matter easily; it must not 
be avoided for the world. Then a possibility occurred to her. 
“ Mrs. Aytoun, however, I have really never seen. She is such 
an invalid.” 

“She is, unfortunately; but she has not always been so. You 
don’t know her ? Oh, she is the one to be known.” 

“ Perhaps this time — but their stay will be too short. A mere 
day or two, I suppose?” (“ Why will he not tell me? If he 
only knew how much it is to me! Oh, what a break-up it might 
be! Just when all was going smoothly. Why must this trouble 
come now, of all times ?”) 

“ I have no idea. They never stay long anywhere.” 

A dawn of relief — a faint, gray dawn. And this was all he 
could give her. 

The subject was now dropped outwardly, though faster than 
ever talked the voices within. 

“Your father is tired,” said Mr. Smith, glancing at the 
opposite arm-chair, where Mr. Tolleton, overcome at last by the 
extreme difficulty of making conversation, the comfortable 
chair, the warmth of the room, and the humming monotony of 
the two tongues opposite, had fallen into a gentle doze. 

Helen smiled. “ He often takes a nap before dinner, and we 
never disturb him.” 

“ Most gentlemen take their nap after dinner.” 

“ Do you ?” 

“ That is not fair. I have no inducement to keep me awake.” 

“I suspect the inducement sometimes fails.” 

“iNot when it is strong enough.” 

“ When it is strong enough ?” 

“ When it is a wife.” 

A wife! She would have started, buckled on her armor, pre- 
pared for conquest on the spot, if only — he had said it with a 
little less decision, more hesitation, more significance. 

“ And the wife mustTie ?” said she, carelessly. 

“ If she were my wife, that would be enough.” 

“It is not always enough.” with considerable emphasis. 

He flushed up. “ No, you are right, Miss Tolleton. I spoke 


m 


Mn, SMITH. 


in all the arrogant spirit of ignorance. Still I think- -but I don’t 
know — I am talking of what I know nothing.” 

The voice within was prating at this moment loudly. 

(“Never, Emmeline, never. Had you been my wife, you had 
never been the wan pale woman that you are. You would have 
been loved and cherished as a tender flower. Faded and droop- 
ing if it must h.'ive been, you would still have found a support, 
strong till death. My wife, how I would have loved you!’’) 

“ What were you going to say?” It was the softest woman’s 
voice in the world that recalled him. 

“ I — I beg your pardon.” 

“Am I impertinent? But I should like so much to know. 
You spoke as if there were something on your mind. Pray, 
don’t answer me if you had rather not.” 

He thought if he were ever to tell any one, it would be her. 

“ I had fallen into a foolish dream. Miss Tolleton, that was all; 
a bad habit caught by living alone. A wife ” (he spoke boldly 
and laughingly now) “ would have cured me of it. What a pity 
my chance is gone by!” 

She wished he had not laughed; the laugh spoilt everything. 
She could not talk softly again. She could not wistfully pene- 
trate into the foolish dream. She was thrown back into the 
broad daylight of commonplaces. 

Badly as he was behaving, however, he showed one good sign; 
he did not quit the subject. He treated it lightly and negli- 
gently, but he continued it. She might win him back to tender- 
ness again, if she had only time. Mr. Tolleton slept soundly, 
and that was the only thing that gave her hope. 

“ Men always laugh at women,” said she, pettishly; “ but I 
did not expect it from you.” 

“I laugh? My dear young lady, what could put that idea 
into your head ?” 

“Why, you laughed just now.” 

“ A miserable fox-and-the-grapes laugh at myself. Why, I 
am a warning to everybody — a beacon. Imagine anybody 1^- 
lieving me if I laughed at a wife.” 

“ I am afraid you are very sarcastic.” 

“ And I am afraid you are very skeptical.” 

She had no patience with him. 

Snowing, snowing, outside. Within, a dim room, a sleeping 
chaperon, silence, and safety. It was hard on Helen. She 
could not make any impression. He slid out of her gentle grasp. 
He bragged of his freedom to her very face. 

Such behavior was not to be borne. She must have him now, 
come what would. 

After a minute’s thought she said — “ I am afraid I am rather 
sore on the subject, that is the truth. It is always so strongly 
on my mind what my dear father lost as a wife, and we as a 
mother, that I never feel inclined to laugh about it. I daresay 
it is very silly.” * 

He was grave in an instant. Her arrow had sped at last. 

“ No, indeed; the feeling does you honor. You must miS 9 
your mother dreadfully,” 


MR. SMITH. 


m 

The worst of it is the not missing her, I believe. We hardly 
realize what we have lost, we only feel it.” She had said the 
same thing before, and it struck her as rather good. Besides, the 
sentiment was genuine, and wlien she could be genuine, she 
would. “ If our mother had been alive,” said Helen, with the 
utmost sincerity, “we should never have grown up the wild, 
giddy girls we are.” 

“ My dear Miss Tolleton, who would ever accuse you of giddi- 
ness ?” 

“ I accuse myself.” 

“Then that is enough. Even if the accusation be true, it is 
enough. To accuse one’s self is to be sorry, and to be sorry is to 
amend.” 

“ But it is so difficult.” 

He looked surprised. 

“ One gets run away with, you know. My sisters and I have 
high spirits, and there is no one to hold us in. No,” looking at 
her father, “really no one. Then, when it is over, we are sorry. 
But I daresay people say we are dreadfully flighty.” 

“ Indeed, I never heard it said.” 

But at that moment he remembered Lady Sauffrenden. Was 
this what she meant? How stern, how harsh, such a judgmenti 
And they, in their poor, bright, happy spirits, had had that said 
of them. It was cruelly unjust. 

Helen went on. She was anxious to pursue this topic. Who 
could tell what he might hear of her soon ? 

“ I do wish I were more serious,” said she, with a sigh. 

“ You are too young to be serious, my dear.” He had suddenly 
put on a paternal air. “ No, I should not put you off with non- 
sense like that. No one is too young to be serious — very serious 
at times. But a light-hearted gayety is one of the brightest orna- 
ments of youth, and it is not meant to be curbed and checked at 
every turn .” 

“ But when it leads us astray?” 

“ We have a Father to return to, not a stern frowning Judge. 

Her eyes dropped. 

“ Will you not tell your Father?” 

“ Indeed, indeed,” said she, with sudden fire, that is what / 
wish. I often hate myself. And I feel so ashamed, I think I 
will never give way again. I will try to get good and quiet like 
other girls. But then it is always the same thing over again.” 

“ Don't look so hopeless; be sure it is not. The temptation 
must grow weaker or stronger. Try to let it be weaker.” 

“ How?” 

“ Watch and pray.” 

She could not speak, and her breathing came quick and short. 
He thought she was offended. 

“ Have I said too much ?” 

“ Oh no.” 

“ Say you forgive me, then.” 

“ I forgive! Oh, you don’t know; you would not say that, if 
you did. You do me good; you could make me good, I5-I mean 


122 MR, SMITH. 

— I hardly know what I say, Mr. Smith, No one ever talked to 
me like that before.” 

His hand was laid on hers for a moment. 

“It is you ” But he got no further. The tables were 

turned upon her once more, and he had the best of it. 


CHAPTER XVn. 

A SHORT EXPLANATION. 

There is no need to make a mystery of Mr. Smith’s past life. 
He was neither a changeling, nor an im)jostor, nor one without 
right to his name and fortune. He was no left-handed offspring 
of a noble house. 

He came honestly, of a comfortable, homely stock. He had 
been designed for a mercantile life, and people who knew noth- 
ing about him believed he had made his money in mercantile 
transactions. This, however, was not the case. It had been 
left him at so early an age that he had been able to reap the full 
benefit of it. He had been to Oxford, and traveled. 

But, nevertheless, his life had a story. 

When he spoke to Helen Tolleton about the Aytouns, he was 
anxious to discover whether it had ever reached her. He had 
got his present information about them from the newspapers. 
Under the heading “Fashionable Intelligence” this paragraph 
had arrested his attention: “ Colonel the Honorable Egerton Ay- 

toun and Mrs. Aytoun, from V , the seat of the Duke of 

Ir , for Sauffrenden Castle, to be the guests of Lord and Lady 

Sauffrenden during Christmas.” 

He had not been able to read the announcement without emo- 
tion. 

Emmeline Just, the gentle, beautiful girl, and Emmeline Ay- 
toun, the sickly, dwining wife, meant the same person to him. 

Twenty years ago he had been her suitor, and no unacceptable 
one. There was no gray in his temples then. He was black - 
haired, red and sunburnt, and though not tall, well formed and 
broad-shouldered. The singular sweetness of his voice, the 
cliarm of his manner, the nameless attraction which still, when 
he was stout, and gray, and fifty, drew people toward him, 
were in full play. He was in the meridian of life. A man with 
manhood’s experience, manhood’s maturity, manhood’s delib- 
erate self-knowledge; yet with the resolute, determined hope of 
youth. 

He spoke, and was listened to. 

Her parents approved the match, for he was rich and respecta- 
ble, and they, the poor relations of a noble family. 

It would place Emmeline again in her proper sphere. It would 
help forward the boys. It would be a wonderful relief in every 
way. 

They must not expect everything. He had brought money, 
and they must yield birth. Poor souls I They would gladly have 
sold their birthright for a mess of pottage. 

Accordingly all went smoothly for a season. The wedding- 


MR. SMTTTT. 


12S 


day drew near. Presents, dresses, plate, furniture, all the pleas- 
ant bustle of the occasion pervaded the house. 

Old Lady Just fell ill. She was to have been present. She 
had made a push to come, so delighted was she— were they all 
— with the match. A note came from her, so sorry, so vexed, to 
have to give it up, but the doctor had said she really viufit; and 
so, of course, there was no resisting that fiat. She should think 
of them all on the day, and hoped to be quite irell, and down- 
stairs again by the time dear Emmeline and her dear new nephe w 
came to the Towers. They would not, of course, think of put- 
ting it off. 

She wrote this two days before she died, and the wedding was 
put off for a month. 

It was but a short delay, and the pleasant bustle continued to 
go on in undertones. 

Then came Colonel Aytoun, with his high-sounding name, his 
sparkling uniform, his fair mustache; going to his review, listen- 
ing to his band, hearing of his ball; and the old thing happened 
which happens over and over again. 

Poor bridel How hard she strove to behave well, but she had 
not the power. She had neither the force of character to con- 
quer, nor the hypocrisy to pretend. 

Her struggles, her dejection, her pining away, were too evi- 
dent. 

What lover would not know what these things meant — his 
voice no longer the one to please, his smile a sting, his gifts coals 
of fire? 

There was nothing to be done, no one to be angry with. 

All was quietly surrendered, the parents consoled, — it was he 
who had to console them — and thousands of miles put between 
himself and happiness. 

Some years after, they met again. Four years, but how she 
was altered! The beauty was there, perhaps, but tb^ life, the 
spirit of it was gone. 

His brother officers said it was his doing. Every one knew 
what Eggy Aytoun was, the only w’onder being that any parents 
Avould give their daughter to him. A regular riff. And yet he 
was as jealous of any one speaking to her as vf he were a pattern 
husband. Nobody dared take notice of her. It was a pity she 
knocked under so much. A wife with a temper of her own 
might have tamed him, but she had no chance wdth such a fel- 
low. 

And then they all agreed that she was a poor thing; and danced 
as often as they possibly could with her on every opportunity, 
finding a delightful stimulation in the scowling face l^hind; and 
thoughtlessly, not cruelly, drawing down those black looks and 
words, from which they should have shielded her. 

Colonel Aytoun was one who cared for nothing unless it were 
new. While it was new, it was all in all. His betrothed had 
been lovely, perfect, for a few weeks; the wedding-ring was 
scarcely on her finger before he found her insipid. 

To his vanquished rival he magnanimously affirmed lie bore 
no malice. » 


134 


MR. SMITH. 


He was invited to the Abbey. Emmeline was set to ask him. 
and for her sake he went. Why his presence was desired was 
soon clear. He was a sheep to be shorn of its fleece. He had 
been robbed already of his one ewe- lamb, and now more was 
required. 

He thought it over, and allowed himself to be swindled. 

Colonel Aytoun was rampant. He was not rich, but over and 
above the pleasure of having these reinforcements to a short 
purse, it was a most delightful occupation of his talents to take 
in the man to whom he bore no malice. 

It was charmiug to be able to tell Emmeline of the last rise he 
had taken out of that simpleton — her lamented bridegroom; to 
wonder how she had really not been rather ashamed of selecting 
such an imbecile, harmless though he was; to suppose that it 
might have been a case of “ birds of a feather;” and then to grin 
and jeer at her with his smiling red lips, and bid her go and seek 
the society of such a congenial spirit, for he was sick of keeping 
company "with babies out of long clothes. 

O Emmeline, Emmelinel 

It was for this he did it. He, the unforgiven— the forgiving; 
the injured — the benefactor; the forsaken — the one friend; he 
was all she had to look to. 

Pure, true heart, he did it for this! Loving and honoring still, 
yet faithful in its guard as an angel’s guard, the heart was loyal, 
and the conscience clear. 

He would never desert her while it was within his power. 
Colonel Aytoun might have his wretched hundreds — they were 
the price he was ready to pay. But his coarse companion- 
ship, his patronage, his affected friendliness, were harder to be 
borne. 

And Mr. Smith was not a man who took things easily. He 
never made-believe to himself. His charity might cover the 
multitude of sins, but he was perfectly aware they were there. 

Some, perhaps, would have said there were good points about 
Colonel Aytoun. He did not believe there was one. In his heart 
he considered him the wickedest, worst, most disagreeable man 
he had ever met in his life. 

And yet he stayed at the Abbey. 

When he was not there, Emmeline was often months alone. 
She was not allowed to visit, and few people cared to visit her. 
Bold, doubtful ladies came now and then, her husband’s friends; 
very, very rarely, ladies who were neither. These never came 
twice. They were scared by the strange ways of the house, 
overwhelmed by the monopolizing attentions of the host in the 
first instance, and thunderstruck at the neglect which was sure to 
follow. The spiritless, timid wife gave them a chill. They 
breathed freely only when the iron gates had clanged behind 
them, and then they vowed never to come again. 

As for men, they were not invited, with the exception of Mr. 
Smith. Colonel Aytoun was not clever enough to draw money 
from any one who was not prepared to let it go. He could not 
win at cards or at billiards, and he found it unprofitable to try. 

He did not want associates, and assuredly no one wanted to 


MR. SMITH. 


135 


associate with him. He was universally unpopular. Men as re- 
pulsive called liim repulsive; men as needy sneered at his needi- 
ness. He was bad, and he was poor. He was disliked on both 
accounts. 

It ^ave Mr. Smith an uncomfortable feeling to hear Miss Tol- 
leton say she had stayed at the Abbey. At first, for Emmeline’s 
sake. He was jealous of any one spying out the secrets of that 
prison-house. Old as his love- tale was, its dear inhabitant was 
as dear to him as ever; and as anxiously as ever would he shield 
her if he could, from the cold pity w’hich the world bestows on 
those who are no longer able to adorn it. 

But second thoughts soon came in. Miss Tolleton had owned 
no acquaintanceship w’ith Mrs. Aytoun. She kept her room, no 
doubt, when Biey were there. But still, a young girl, staying 
in the house, it might surely have been expected she would find 
lier way there. 

Colonel Aytoun had been at the bottom of it. He had kept 
them apart — kept this pleasure from his dreary wife. Probably 
he had tried to make friends with Helen himself. If so, he 
thought he could tell w’ith what result. Her high spirit w^ould 
ill stand his fawning adulation. 

She had repulsed him wuth contempt. He had been disgusted 
and defeated. It was no wonder that she had repudiated the 
idea of anything beyond the very slightest acquaintanceship. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

ANOTHER RETROSPECT. 

If Mr. Smith believed that Colonel Aytoun was nothing to 
Helen, she would have been surprised beyond measure had she 
been told that Colonel Aytoun’s wife was anything to Mr. 
Smith. 

She had never suspected him. All her tremors, her outward 
composure, her inward agitation, w'ere for herself. While in his 
company she had kept these thoughts down with a high hand, 
resolved on this at all costs, that she would banish from her 
countenance every tell-tale look,* from her voice every unnatural 
tone. 

And she had succeeded. Her visit had gained for her all that 
it ought to have done. The few serious w’ords at the end still 
sounded in her ears. 

Yet there was food for meditation. He liked her, he admired 
her, he all but loved her; but — that was the point. 

She knew that he had pressed her hand at parting, and she 
could recall more than one fervent gaze. She felt that she had 
touched him, but still she had not w*on him; and the more dif- 
ficult he w’as to be won, the more worth the winning h<3 became. 

Her spirit would have risen to meet the difficulty but for one 
drawback. Betw^een her and him had arisen a sudden cloud — 
a cloud so thundery, so dangerous, so close at hand, that she 
felt unable to cope with it, unless she had support. 

Lily rallied her sister on her thoughtful aspect several times 
during the evening, but desisted wdth some alarm on receiving 


^26 


MR. SMITH. 


a whispered communication that she should hear all when they 
were alone, and that it was nothing to laugh about. She seized 
her sister’s arm to ask only one thing, Was it all right with — she 
knew who? 

“Yes, yes,” replied Helen, impatiently. “But it may go 
wrong yet. I am going to tell you all about it, if you let me 
alone now.” 

Carry went off to bed, unsuspecting that there was anything 
to be told. She liked to have a room by herself, and the other 
sisters slept together. 

Before she left they had put on their scarlet dressing-gowns, 
shaken down their hair, and, brushes in hand, drawn their 
chairs close to the fire. 

“This is cozy,” said Lily. “Now let me hear it. But first, 
why did you mind Carry’s knowing ?” 

“ Because she never can be careful. I am going to tell her a 
little, however, as soon as I have thought it over. It is a dread- 
ful bore, I can tell you, Lily.” 

“Is it?” said Lily; “you look as if it were. I have been 
thinking what it can be, all evening, but I cannot imagine, 
unless that George Lance ” 

“George Lance! I don’t care twopence about George Lance! 
What could have put him into your head! We shall never see 
him again.” 

“ Well, you know, Nelly, everybody said ” 

“Oh, never mind!” cried her sister, with an impatient jerk. 
“ George Lance and what everybody said, may be at tlie bottom 
of the sea for all I care! This is quite different.” 

“ What is it, then ?” 

“ The Aytouns are at the Castle.” 

“And what are the Aytouns to us?” responded Lily, with 
unfeigned surprise and some disappointment. Her expectations 
had been wound up to a high pitch. 

“You were such a child when we knew them that you 
scarcely remember, but their coming may be a great deal to 
us.” 

“ I thought you and he had been rather friends.” 

“ So we were.” 

“ And he gave you that lovely dagger- thing?” 

“Pish!” 

“ Give it to me, then.” 

Helen made another impatient jerk. 

“ I was going to offer you a bargain for it the other day,” 
Lily went on, innocently. “ When I saw it lying in your riib- 
bish-drawer, I knew you had given over caring for it, and it is 
a pity that it should be wasted. There is either Uncle Eobert’s 
locket, or perhaps I might be induced to let you have the coral. 
You know you want the coral, and you have not worn the dag- 
ger for months. I believe,” she added, laughing, “ that you are 
afraid Mr. Smith may inquire into its history!” 

“It is that,” said Helen, emphatically, “ which I am afraid 

of.” 

••/riiere is no harm if he did, Nelly. Girls ofte»' get presents* 


MR. SMITH. 


137 


He might as well take a lesson, and give you something nice 
himself.” 

“How little you know him!” exclaimed her sister. “Now 
Lily listen, and do not talk any more nonsense. Mr. Smith is 
as different from Colonel Aytoun as — an angel of light from an 
angel of darkness!” 

Lily laughed aloud. “ Oh, good heavens! Mr. Smith an angel 
of liglit! What next V” 

“ Oh, do be quiet!” groaned her sister. “ I want help so much, 
and you do nothing but laugh. I had better say no more.” 

“No, no, Nelly; I am quite grave now. Mr. ^mith is an angel, 
an archangel, if you will. I won’t laugh again. Now for 
Colonel Aytoun.” 

“ W^ll, you remember our staying at the Abbey, just after I 
left Madame Voucher’s ? When Aunt Maria would not hear of 
my being introduced, because I was only seventeen. The 
Aytouns were at Sauffrenden that summer, and we met them 
there once or twice, and he came here, and made such a point 
of our going to the Abbey, that papa and I went without Aunt 
Maria’s knowledge. We had quite a proper invitation, bat when 
we went there Mi*s. Aytoun was shut up in her room. We never 
saw her fit all. and I am sure now that she did not choose to see 
us. One Cold i tiot wonder at her, for every one knows the way he 
behave:.- and he did — did make a great deal of me on all possible 
occasi( MS. Of course, in his own house, he had it all his own 
way. We two were together all day long. He managed either 
to send papa out fishing or shooting, and stay at home with me; 
or else to take me driving in the curricle, and be afraid there 
was no room for more than two. As it happened, I am glad he 
was so rude to papa, for papa had been so charmed with him at 
first, that if his (dvilities had continued, papa would never have 
been detached from him.” 

“ But it was rather good fun for you.” 

“Oh dear, yes. I thought it the "best fun in the world. We 
used to go wandering about the old ruins together, listening to 
the owls in the ivy, reading poetry and singing duets in the 
drawing-room in the dusk. And then I went fishing with him, 
find once we took luncheon with us and were not in the whole 
day. Papa did not altogether like that, and I got a lecture when 
he smelt me of smoking; but I coaxed him into forgetting it. 
We were there nearly three weeks, and then papa said we must 
go. But Colonel Aytoun would not hear of it. He knew papa’s 
weak side, and flattered him; and you know there was no abso- 
lute reason why we should not stay. No one was at home, and 
we had no other engagements, and I, like the silly girl I was, 
told this to Colonel Aytoun, and we laughed over it, and I said 
papa shoidd stay; and stay he did.” 

“ And when did you begin to dislike him ?” 

“ Oh, only the last evening, and I think the dislike has grown 
since.” 

“ Have you seen him since ?” 

“That was he — that man I told you not to look at, at Crewe 
Station. He did not see us, and I don’t want either you or Can’y 


128 


MR. SMITH. 


to know him if you should ever meet. Who would have thought 
of their coming to the Castle, when we heard Lord Sauffrenden 
and he had quarreled? That must have been a mistake, or chc 
they have made it up again. Mr. Smith could have told me about 
it, T daresay, but I could not ask him. He had no idea how he was 
tormenting tne, when he would give me no information beyond 
the bald fact that they were to be there. No one would have 
been more sorry than he, if ” 

“ Never mind him; I can imagine it all. You and he got quite 
affectionate after your tea, with papa pretending to be asleep on 
the other side of the fire, and watching you like a cat all the 
time!” 

“ He was not!” 

Lily laughed. “Dear me! if he did, I daresay there was noth- 
ing to see. Mr. Smith’s courtship would not be very edifying. 
However, if it will make you come quicker to the pouit, I may 
tell you that that was a put in of my own. He was as sound as 
a top, and I’m sure I should have been the same, with only you 
two old humdrums grunting away into each other’s ears all the 
afternoon. Now for the Colonel; he is much more interesting.” 

“ He is nothing of the kind,” said Helen, warmly. “ I should 
never compare the two men.” 

“ Oh, come, that’s going too far. One old, the other young ” 

“ Both exactly of an age, if you please; or rather, I telieve 
Colonel Aytoun to be the elder of the two. Do you know what 
Mr. Smith’s age is?” 

“ Not in the least. I thought it safest not to inquire into it 
too minutely.” 

“He is barely fifty. He was forty-nine when he first came 
here.” 

“ I thought he was about that. Is not that old ?” 

“Not what any people, except school-girls, call old. Of 
course, one would not say he was young; but except for the 
little bunch of gray on his temples, he has nothing old about 
him.” 

“ Except his waistcoat.” 

“ I have seen many men of twenty as stout as he. He has 
no stomach. If there is one thing worse than another, it is a 
thin man sticking out in front.” 

“I know,” said Lily, laughing; “I grant you that. No, he 
has not a bad figure, but it is a middle-aged figure. It is not the 
figure of a young man, even though he were twenty stone. 
However, you are quite right to stand up for him, and I hope 
you always will. Just tell me now, like a good creature, you 
did think to- day he was very, very friendly, did you not?” 

“Well, yes,” said Helen, half smiling, half frowning; “I 
did.” 

“But he did not say anything?” 

“ No, no, no! How often am I to tell you that ? Nothing 
such as you expect, at all events. Something there was between 
jest and earnest, a little bit of romance ” 

“ Nelly, if he gets to romance, he is done for.” 


MR. SMITH. 


/29 


“So you think; but I may be done for in another way first. 
Colonel Aytoun’s coming has spoilt all." 

“ Why ? He need never know anything about this. Perhaps 
they may never meet.” 

“ Is that likely when they are old friends? I do wonder that 
they should be friends at all, by the bye. Why, the way in which 
it came out that he knew them showed them to be most intimate. 
It was about the cat. That very cat that sat on my knee this 
afternoon was the one I used to see creeping into Mrs. Aytoun’s 
room in the Abbey.” 

“ You were not* so fond of it then.”' 

“ I might never have noticed it at all, but for Colonel Aytoun's 
being so angry once because it broke something, and he called it 
‘ Mrs. Aytoun’s cat,’ and made such a fuss that it was quite 
ridiculous. I took the cat’s part, to tease him, and we had a 
mock quarrel; and that was how I remembered the creature. 
At least I recollected what it was like, though I surprised 
when Mr. Smith said it was the same.” 

“Do you think Mr. Smith had heard anything of your flirta- 
tion.” 

“ Not yet; of that I am perfectly sure. But I think he looked 
a little taken aback at our having stayed there. It is no secret, 
the way that man behaves to his wife, and there is no doubt 
people don’t care to go to the house.” 

“Then there is no reason why he ever should hear,” said Lily, 
pursuing her own thoughts. “ The whole thing is over and done 
with. Every one has forgotten it.” 

“ Colonel Aytoun has not, I suspect. I do think he still likes 
me well enough to dislike the idea of my marrying any one else. 
He has tried often to make me renew our acquaintance, but that 
I never will do.” 

“ You have not told me much, after all. Is there anything 
more ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Go on, then.” 

“ I do hate the thought of it so much. It happened the even- 
ing before we came away. I was passing his study, a little 
room off the stairs, and he called to me from the inside to come 
in. He was standing by the window, for it was getting dark, 
and he wanted the light, as he was examining something in nis 
hand. I went in at once, and he said he had got a present for 
me. though not much of one; however, such as it was, I must 
wear it for his sake. For his sake! I did not say a word, for I 
did not quite like this. It had been all sentiment, and sym- 
pathy, and congeniality before, and I thought this was different. 
But I could not say ‘ No;’ so he fastened it round my waist, and 
then, quite suddenlj% he began to talk, to whisper in the wildest 
way aicx)ut — oh, well, you can fancy the sort of things a man 
would sav when once he allows himself to sav anything.” 

“ Nelly I” 

Helen flung herself back in her chair. “ Oh dear, my e^es 
u'ere open then I I stared so at him that it absolutely made him 
stop. For a moment I had the best of it. Then he had the in- 


130 


MR. SMITH. 


solence to beg me not to pretend ! I must know all about it; 
and he seized my hand, and began calling me by my name, 
and ”* 

“ And what?” 

“Oh, I never was more thankful than to hear papa's step on 
the stairs outsidel I actually wrenched myself out of his arms, 
for he was still by way of fastening the buckle, and turned to 
rush away. And then, oh Lily! as if anything ever was more 
cruelly unfortunate, out flew from my frock, here, a copy of 
verses he had given me in the morning. There was nothing 
much in them; but they,;, were flattering, and rather pretty. 

‘ To Helen’s Eyes,’ I think it was. Just the sort of little ef- 
fusion that any one might make, and no harm done. And I 
had treasured this up. Oh, you should have seen the look upon 
his face when he gave it to me, with a little bow, and a smile 
like — like a devil!” 

“ And what did you do ?** said her sister, drawing a breath. 

“The worst, worst thing I could have done. I have gone 
over that scene again and again in my mind, and anything 
would have been better than what I did. I saw, of course, what 
he must think— w^hat nobody could have helped thinking— and 
there seemed to be no spirit left in me. The tears ivould come.” 

“ Oh, Nelly, did you cry?” 

“I could cry now. That he should be able to suppose I had 
loved a man like him! and no doubt he really in his heart be- 
lieves this still. I dare say he blames his precipitation, and 
thinks I was shocked and vexed; but no doubt he plumes him- 
self that the deed was done. Is it not dreadful ? I forgot the 
dagger, and went away as best I could; and he let me go quietly, 
for he thought he could make it all smooth next day. I think 
he reckoned on the night I should hav6, but he did not know 
how it would leave me in the morning. At breakfast he met us 
with his usual cool command not to go. We had been talking 
about it the evening before, but he could not possibly spare us; 
and he was sure Miss Tolleton, at least, would not desert him. I 
looked him full in the face and told him he was mistaken. That 
is the only part of my visit to the Abbey I can look back upon 
with anything but shame. That moment I Wee to think of. His 
cheek flushed up, and such a savage look came into his face that 
I longed to say it over again. T never felt such rage in my life as 
I did then. Papa did whatever I bid him, and we left directly. He, 
Colonel Aytoun, seemed as if he could hardly believe his eyes. 
He met me on the stairs, and began in his softest tones, ‘ And 
are you really in earnest?’ and was going on, when I stopped 
him by calling to papa to come and say ‘ good-bye.’ And ‘ good- 
bye’ we said, with all decency, for the servants were looking on, 
and besides, it was better — and then we got into the carriage. I 
had written to the town for one early in the morning, that we 
might not be dependent on his. He would have said the horses 
were lame, or made some other excuse; so papa took a line him- 
self, and found a boy, and sent it off. without anybody’s knowl- 
edge. Papa was very good and kind about it all.” 

“ But how could you be so foolish about the verses ?” 


MR. SMITH. 


131 


“ Foolish! How should I imagine things would turn out so?’’ 

“ I mean, how could you care to keep them there?” 

“ Pshaw! It was the merest piece of sentiment.” 

“ That sort of sentiment T cannot imagine. It was very nice 
to get them, and nice to keep them; but as for wearing them!” 

“ Think what a child I w^as. It seemed so fine and romantic 
to me, that I never dreamt of anything more. My head was 
turned with reading novels, and I w anted to be a heroine my- 
self, and this came in my way. He took the exact measure of 
me so far, but he check matetl himself.” 

“ But you kept the dagger?” 

“ What could I do with it? I could not leave it in my room, 
for the maids to make a story of; and I was resolved not to speak 
to him. I meant to throw it away; but — well, I am ashamed to 
say 1 have worn it sometimes, as you know, when the visit be- 
gan to grow dim in my memory; and there never was any one 
who knew’ about it to see. Not that I ever mean to wear it 
again.” 

“ And what are you afraid of now?” said Lily, thoughtfully. 

Do you think he w’ants to see you again?” 

“Yes, I do. indeed. I think, when he was at the opera that 
night, when w-e pretended not to see him, and he stared at us 
the whole time, he had a renewal of his old feelings. You know, 
Charley Hill asked who he was; and even Uncle Robert noticed 
his fixed look at our box.” 

“ I w’onder, then, that he has not been down here before 
now.” 

“How can we tell what may have kept him? He is here 
now at all events. Oh, dear!” with a sigh, “ I wish I knew how 
long they would stay. I shall never breathe freely till they are 
gone. If one could only have a little illness!” 

“ And Mrs. Hunt?” 

“What of her? She is all smiles now. You know, if it is 
either of them, it is Maria!” 

“ I suppose after that night at the Hill there can be no doubt, 
not even an ‘ If it is cried Lily. “Oh, Nelly, it was really 
cruel the way you played into that poor girl’s hands!” 

“ Not into hers — into her mother’s. It might be cruel, but it 
was necessary. I cannot possibly have Mrs. Hunt’s long nose 
being poked after me at every turn. I shall have enough to do 
with Colonel Aytoun.” 

“ Do you think he will come to this house?” 

“ Oh, yes, I am sure he will. But Corker must have strict 
orders that we are not at home, and we must really be not at 
home. He has the most extraordinary way of finding out 
things. If we were in the drawing-room, and he was denied 
admittance, he would ferret his way in somehow or other.” 

“ But if we go out we shall meet him.” 

“You and Carry may. He does not know you, and could not 
speak to you. I shall keep to the plantation. Or if I am at 
home, I could go to my room, and lock the door,” 

“ What if papa meets him ?” 


182 


MR. SMITH. 


“ He will do very well. Colonel Aytoun knows he never liked 
him.’* 

“ But he w’ill show surprise, and be taken off his guard.” 

“ Let him show surprise — that does not matter.” 

“ I think you had better tell him they are here. In the flurry 
of meeting, he would probably ask him to dinner.” 

“ He might. You are right. I shall tell him to-morrow — and 
Carry too.’’ 

A pause, while each sister laid down her brush, and began to 
plait her long hair for the night. 

“ I think,” said Lily, suddenly, “ that it would be well to see 
as little as possible of Mr. Smith while they are here.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What a pity, Nelly, that he did not embrace his opportunity 
to-day!” 

• “You still expect that? I wish I could make you understand 
that ” 

“Oh, I understand; I understand it all perfectly. But one 
thing, just tell me one thing, and I will ask no more.” 

“What is it?” 

“ If he did — did it, you know — would you say ‘ yes?’ ” 

Helen was about to put her off with a jest as heretofore, but 
something in Lily’s face checked her. 

She had made up her mind by this time, and, after a minute’s 
thought, told her sister what it was. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE DOOR-BELL. 

Next morning Helen tapped at the door of her father’s room, 
and remained closeted with him some minutes before coming 
down to breakfast. 

It was necessary that he should be told something of the busi- 
ness in hand. 

He had his part to play, and when he knew what it was, would 
play it. She had to show him what it was. 

Carry also had to receive instructions. Lily read her her 
lesson, and ended by saying the siege had begun. 

At first the siege was not unpleasant. Enough snow had 
fallen to render the lanes impassable, and the more frequented 
roads were ankle-deep in mud and slush. Had there been no 
reason for staying at home, there would still have been no in- 
ducement to go out. 

One day, however, finer than the rest, tempted the younger 
ones; and Helen, fretting for intelligence, advocated their walk- 
ing to the village, and if nothing better offered, calling at least 
on Mrs. Hunt. 

Nothing better did offer, and Mrs. Hunt was found at home. 
Thus much they gained from her — Mr. Smith was still confined 
to the house, and Maria in bed with a cough. “A sympathetic 
cough,” Lily had suggested, and had got a benign look, a tap on 
the arm, and an admonition not to say such things. 

They Lad nothing else to report. No one from the Castle had 


MR. 8M1TIL 


138 


bfen visible anywhere, except, yes. a footman Imrrying dov.-n 
with late letters for the post. T!ie footman had touched his hat, 
but naturally had not volunteered any information. 

“ Why did you leave the front door open ?” said Helen, who 
had come down from her room. “It always makes a draueht 
in here.” 

“ Don’t shut it; it is for papa. He will be in in a few minutes. 
We left it unfastened when we went out. that we might slip in 
without Corker’s knowing, and I told him to do the same.” 

“But you need not have left it so wide.” 

“ If he didn’t see it open, he would forget. It cannot matter 
for these few minutes. He will be here directly.” 

Helen yawned, and returned to her book. She had drawn an 
arm-chair on one side of the fire, and, with her feet on the 
fender, was having a cozy afternoon of it. 

Carry sat wearily down opposite, complaining that she was 
tired, and her feet wet. She began to unbutton her boots. 
“ Lily, will you ring, and I'll get Thomson to bring me down dry 
shoes and stockings.” 

“ Why can’t you go up yourself? Corker will be coming with 
tea, and it makes such a fuss,’’ said Lily. 

“ Never mind, then; I’ll take them off, and wait till it is time 
to dress.” 

So saying she drew off one, and complaining that even the 
stocking was soaked, was about to disencumber herself of it 
also, when her sister started forward in her chair, exclaiming, 
“ Who was that ?” 

“ Papa,” said Lily, faintly. 

“ It teas not'" said Helen. “ It was he!” 

Lily flew to the door. “ I can stop Cork('r.” 

But even before she had time to turn the handle, her face 
changed. “ Oh, Nelly, the front door.” 

“Yes,” said Helen, quietly, as the bell at that instant rang 
with a loud peal. “ It is too late. Sit still, and neither of you 
leave the room.” 

“ I am so sorry,” whispered Lily. 

Her sister nodded; she was not angry— she was gathering all 
her wits about her for the interview. 

Steps were heard outside. “Oh, I can't get on this boot!” 
gasped the poor sloven, tearing off the tag as she spoke, with a 
face of fire. “ What shall I do, Lily ?” 

Lily turned, seized the boot, and thnist it under the sofa. She 
had not time for more than the muffled command, “ Sit still, 
and it will never be seen.’* Then the door opened, and when 
Colonel Aytoun was announced, all three calmly raised their 
heads and looked at him, as if only half roused from their en- 
grossing occupations. 

He had been told the ladies were not at home, but he knew 
better. He had had the audacity to tell the man he was mis- 
taken, for the ladies had just returned, and the open door attest- 
ed to the truth of his observation. Corker was defeated. He 
supposed it was all right, and Colonel Aytoun was ushered into 
the drawing-room. 


134 


MR. SMITH. 


There they were. He thought he had caught them. He ex- 
pected to see an instantaneous flutter, an astonishment, an agita- 
tion. 

Never was man more outwitted by woman. 

Miss Tolleton, indeed, allowed a slow surprise to gather in her 
face, but it was a surprise so full of indifference as to bear no 
flattering interpretation. The next instant she feigned to rec- 
ollect herself, to be trying to appear pleased for the sake of 
politeness; and to be anxious to be civil, while in reality she was 
bored. Bored was exactly the word; not nervous, not angry, 
not startled, and not afraid — yet not delighted. 

It was a bore to get out of her comfortable lounge, and be in- 
terrupted in the third volume of her novel; to have to sit up and 
make small talk, and simper, and smirk; and all for a man she 
had almost forgotten. 

Such was the impression she meant to give, and she gave it. 

Nevertheless, her sisters were brought forward, her father’s 
absence regretted, his appearance promised, and Colonel Aytoun 
begged to come a little nearer the fire, with a perfectly good 
grace. Civil inquiries were next made for Mrs. Aytoun, fol- 
lowed by the usual appropriate felicitations on her improved 
health. In his turn the visitor had to go through preliminaries; 
but when he had observed that there was no need to ask how 
she was, since his eyes could tell him, and that he had hoped to 
have met her at the Castle, and that there was a large party 
staying there, he found some difficulty in going on. 

Accordingly Lily entered the lists. 

Was not the snow dreadful? And the thermometer going 
down so that she was certain it must freeze directly. They were 
in despair about skating. Did he think there was any chance of 
its keeping clear for skating? 

Yes, Colonel Aytoun thought there was a very good chance; 
in fact, every prospect of it. Had they any good skating-ground 
in the neighborhood ? 

On this point there was a great deal to be said. They had 
meadows which, when flooded deep enough, made the best skat- 
ing-ground that could be imagined. During some winters tliey 
had been flooded for miles. Other seasons they had not been so 
fortunate. The most provoking thing was, when the frost came 
too soon, and they were rough with weeds and grass. If only a 
sharp frost would set in at once, without any more snow, the 
meadows would be in perfection. 

Colonel Aytoun, however, had not come there to talk to Lily 
about skating. 

Having heard her out, he politely carried on the topic, while 
introducing another, and returned to her sister. “You used to 
be fonder of fishing than skating.” 

“ I ? I have not fished since I was a child.” 

“ Have you forgotten the Abbey ?” 

“ I was a child then. Colonel Aytoun, in everything but wear- 
ing short frocks.” 

In the haughty flush which gathered on her cheek, his ey© 
could detect no sign of faltering. 


MR. SMITH. 


135 


“ It seems to me,” he said, “ like yesterday.’* 

“ It seems to me like another life.” 

“ What are you talking about, Helen?” inquired her sister, in- 
nocently. “ It makes you sound quite old.” 

“Yes, I daresay; it makes me feel so. A visit that I paid 
when you were at school, Lily, and I ought to have been there 
too. It was the first time I had ever stayed anywhere in my 
life, and 1 daresay Mrs. Aytoun thought me a dreadful girl, for 
I had no idea how to behave myself.” 

“ I am not aware that my wife had very much of your society,” 
said Colonel Aytoun, dryly. “That pleasure was reserved for 
me.” 

“If it was a pleasure, which is rather doubtful. Having an 
ignorant school-girl to drag about, is not usually thought much 
of a pleasure. But Mrs. Aytoun — surely I remember now — she 
was very unwell all the time, and we were left for you to enter- 
tain. How you must have anathematized us! But you were 
very kind.” 

“ And so were you,” significantly, emphatically. 

Helen gave him a vacant look, an unmeaning smile. He was 
talking polite humbug. 

Her sister spoke again. “ She was a regular romp then, was 
she not? She is always telling us of the odd things she used to 
do, and tlie scrapes she got into. It is too bad that she should be 
so particular with Carry and me, when every one laughs at the 
way she used to go on herself.” 

Helen laughed a little too, gently. “ You absurd child, no one 
would ever think you were kept much in order. I am sure I 
don’t get credit for being half strict enough.’’ 

“Are you, then, so much changed?” said Colonel Aytoun. 

“ It is to hoped so, at least, with two younger sisters to set 
an example to.” 

“ A valuable example no doubt.” 

“ So my flatterers tell me,’’ carelessly. 

“ Do you reckon me a flatterer?” 

“ I really never thought about it.” 

He bit his lip. The insolence of the girl! What! Did she 
talk to liim like this? Did she dare to assume airs to him, as if 
he were an old man, and she just come to her womanhood? 

Was it not barely four years since he had held her in his power, 
and made her a very puppet in Ins hands? Inthralled her so 
completely as to make him confident there were no bounds to 
what she would do for him. What had wrought this incon- 
ceivable change? He thought she had been merely a little 
mortified, a little chagrined. She had gone off in a passion, and 
he ha<l given the pretty vixen time to cool. 

Until now he had never been able to come after her, but, on 
coming, he had meant at once to resume his sway. 

This was his reception. He was, like Samson, shorn of his 
strength; no longer terrible, no longer able to inspire either love 
or hatred. He read in her face the unaffected truth— at least, 
he thought he did. 


136 


MR. SMITH. 


“ It appears, then,” said he, bitterly, “ that you have no mem- 
ory for old frieuds.” 

“ Indeed I have. The rest of my father’s friends don’t tell me 
so, I assure you.” 

“Am I considered one of your father’s friends?” Stinging, 
mortifying, intolerable thoughts 

“Well, I hope so ” (smiling). “I have always thought you 
one, I am sure. Pray, don’t declare yourself his enemy. Or if 
vou do, wait, at least, till we have time to warn him, for he is 
just coming in and must have time to put on his battle array.” 

Colonel Aytoun’s temper was fast rising. How could he keep 
from showing it ? How should he be expected to smile and dis- 
semble, and stab like a woman? What match was he for a 
Helen, aided by a Lily? 

“ I suppose I ought not to have looked for recognition at all!” 
said he, at last, with an angry laugh. 

“Oh, yes — you. How can you say that? But, to tell the 
truth, I should not have been surprised if you had failed to rec- 
ognize me. Had our meeting been accidental, of coitrse. At 
least, you would have taken my youngest sister for me.” 

“ I am often taken for Helen,” chimed in Lily. 

Colonel Aytoim looked at her with contempt. He would not 
answer. 

At this moment another loud ring at the door-bell made the 
hearts of all three sisters j'ump. 

Brave and quick-witted as she was, the blood rushed to Helen’s 
face, and oh, she knew he saw it! 

Next moment brought an intense relief, for in walked, not Mr. 
Smith, but Captain Well wood. 

She could draw breath again. Philip was bad enough, to be 
sure, but it might have been infinitely worse. 

She could no longer pretend as she had pretended. That stu- 
pid blush had undone her. She had given Colonel Aytoun the 
cue. He had not been out -grown, but supplanted. 

This, at all events, was how she knew he would interpret her 
start. 

That the supplanter should be supposed to be Philip Wellwood, 
and not Mr. Smith, was a great (leal; but she wished — oh, she 
wished so much! — that there had been no question of either. 

The surprise of both gentlemen was unfeigned. They had shot 
together in the morning, and hated each other cordially. Philip 
had the best grounds for his dislike. He hated Colonel Aytoun 
for the same reasons that every one else did; while Colonel 
Aytoun merely hated him for the same reasons that he hated 
every one else. 

To descend to particulars. Colonel Aytoun had taken the best 
shots, and then told stories about them; whereas Captain Well- 
wood had merely brought home the heaviest bag. 

Not a word had been said by either about the Miss Tolletons. 
Not a word of any projected visit to them. And each, accord- 
ingly, felt duly enraged at seeing the other. Each considered his 
manor was being poached upon. 

“ Ah, Colonel, T had no idea of finding you here.” Thus much 


M;?. smith . 137 

Captain Well wood could say, without expressing disf 2 ^ust. But 
the Colonel turned his back. That was her fellow, then. 

Heavily dragged the visit now. 

^ Neither visitor would open his lips to any hut the eldest sister. 
Each listened to every word the other said. Each was doing his 
outside to discover the extent of the other’s intimacy. Both 
were fixed in an equal resolve, not to be the one to leave first. 

All this even the slowly comprehending Carry could perceive. 

She had sat absolutely silent since the beginning of the visit; 
after drawing her chair in front of the opening through which 
her boot had disappeared. 

On Captain Well wood’s taking a seat a little behind, she had 
reflected with agony that it might have been thrown too far, 
according to Lily’s usual strong way of doing things. But dis- 
covering, by the appearance of half an inch of black cord on her 
side of the sofa, that such had not been the case, she had again 
given herself up to listening and observing. 

She was now looking anxiously at Helen. 

Helen had made several dumb signs, which she understood to 
mean that their father was wanted. The unfortunate compli- 
cation of her boot had been forgotten, and she was to fetch him. 
But this in her short walking-dress it was impossible she should 
do. 

Glad as she would have been to leave the room, and take off 
the rest of her wet things, she could not, situated as she was, 
move without exposure. Helen’s signals were dreadful to her. 
Only on one occasion had she braved them before, and that was 
all passed and forgiven. She had returned to her allegiance. 

Why would Helen not understand? She coughed, and looked 
expressively at Colonel Aytoun’s boots. She remarked, opening 
her lips for the first time, how very wet they had got when 
walking. She tried Lily. 

All in vain. Helen could stand it no longer. In her heart 
she was calling her sister a stupid dolt, or some such ugly name; 
but aloud, she gently suggested that Carry should let papa know. 

She did not wish to say it. She was particularly anxious that 
it should not appear as if she stood in need of him. But the de- 
sire for his presence was so strong that have him she must, and 
Lily she could not spare to be her messenger. Colonel Aytouu 
would be at her side in a minute, in spite of Philip. 

Philip was at a little distance, and so was Carry; and though, 
as yet, they had not gone into a fresh conspiracy, they might at 
any moment. In that case she would be, to all intents and pur- 
poses, alone with Colonel Aytoun. 

This she was resolved against, and held Lily to her side with 
a grasp of iron. 

Lily herself understood perfectly why she was not to go. She 
was proud of her sister’s confidence, and of her position as right 
hand and support. Both were enraged with Carry, when, in re- 
ply to Helen’s suggestion, she astounded them by asserting that 
she was tired, and thought there was no use in going for their 
father, as she was sure he had not come in. 


138 


MR. SMITH. 


Miss Tolleton rang the bell without a word, and then it ap- 
peared there were to be more blunders than one. 

Corker was but mortal, and though possessed of acute reason- 
ing powers, he reasoned, as the best of mortals do, from 
analogy. He liad seen gentlemen, and gentlemen in that house 
meant tea. All his former experience in the family had taught 
him that afternoon gentlemen and afternoon tea went together. 
Accordingly the drawing-room bell found him prepared. As 
soon as it rang, he poured in the boiling water, and brought \ip 
the tray. 

Muffins were there too, and a hot cake, spicy and odorous. 
There was even a more brilliant shine on the silver than usual, 
as it happened to have been his afternoon for cleaning it. 

No words can express the disgust of Helen at this apparition. 

If Mr. Smith should come in now she felt as if she should have 
to give him up altogether. Yet she must show nothing. 

Corker was ordered to let his master know who was there, and 
tea was dispensed by the joint agency of the eldest and young- 
est sister. 

By this time Colonel Ay toun had begun to doubt the accuracy 
of his first hasty conclusion. He could not detect any under- 
standing between Helen and the new-comer. She was still pre- 
occupied, more preoccupied than she had been before the inter- 
ruption, but he had clearly no interest in her thoughts. They 
were both absent, yet alert. Both appeared to be on the watch, 
but neither to be watching tlie other. He turned his chair the 
least bit round, and growled a civil remark to Captain Well- 
wood. 

Philip thought it was the dreariest tea he had ever known at 
Freelands. At the last he had been a good deal amused, and a 
little put out; but on the whole it was cheerfulness itself com- 
pared with this. For years after, the smell of hot cake gave 
him a sensation of something disagreeable. 

What was that blackguard doing there? What would Sauf- 
frenden think of it ? What would they all ? Colonel Aytoun, 
who was barely tolerated in the house because of his wife, was 
shunned by the whole party. The poor T’s would be in deeper 
disgrace than ever. 

Were it only Sauffrenden himself, he might be talked over; 
but the Fultons, Mr. Smith, and others, were coming to dinner 
that evening, and if Colonel Aytoun told where he had been, 
they would all know what to think. Of course he would tell. 
He would have no reason for reticence on the sub-ject. And he 
would talk about poor Helen, and get her more abused than 
ever. And Mr. Smith would hear. Then in spite of himself, 
when Mr. Smith recurred to his recollection, he smiled in 
Carry’s face. She thought slie had said something amusing, 
and laughed. Her danger was over now, and she had iiotliing 
further to fear. 

Mr. Tolleton did not appear for fully ten minutes. He would 
have given something not to come in at all. He knew who was 
there quite well. He had known it all along— having crept- past 


MR. SMITH. 


l.ud 


the drawing-room door on his stocking-soles directly after 
Colonel Aytoun had been ushered within. 

TIo liad not known a minute's peace, for fear he should be 
sent for until Captain Wellwood came. Then he had settled 
himself down wdth an easy mind, and begun to change his 
things for the evening. 

Helen’s summons was as unexpected as it w^as unwelcome. 
But he knew, when he got it, that he must go. And unwill- 
ingly, after delaying as long as he could, he went. 

It certainly did not appear as if he were wanted. Scarcely 
had he shaken hands, when the fir»t visitor rose to go. 

He apjiealed to Philip, and Philip thought it best to accede. 
He could do no good by remaining, aud he wished to hear if the 
call wmuld be acknowledged on their return to the Castle. 

With a sigh of relief, the others saw’ them depart. 

Helen set her lips together as the door shut. 

“ Now’,” said she, “ that, I hope, will never happen again.” 

“ Well,” said her sister, “ I thought we managed wonderfully 
w^ell.” 

“ Did you, my dear?” inquired her father, with unwonted ten- 
derness in his voice. “ Did you, Helen? I knew I should only 
make a mess of it if I came in; so I stayed away till you sent for 
me. But I am afraid my coming did no good.” 

“The greatest good it could have done, papa, by sending them 
aw’ay. But, Carry, how’ could you not go w’hen I told you to go 
for papa? And you saw’ I wanted it long before I spoke, too. I 
particularly wished not to speak. I showed you as plainly as 
possible; but you are such a ” 

“ How could you not remember my boot?” cried the outraged 
Carry, interrupting. “As if I could possibly have got up and 
walked across the room with only one boot on, and not even a 
longgownl I never felt so uncomfortable in my life! You 
might have known I should never have refused without a reason 
for it, and not have asked me out before them all!” 

“ I declare, I forgot all about your boot,” said Helen, wdio had 
now the worst of it. “That comes of your untidy w’ays. I sup- 
pose you could not help it, however; but why did you not give 
me the hint ?” 

“ I did. I gave you a hundred hints, but you would not take 
them. 1 stared at Colonel Aytoun’s boots, till he thought there 
was something the matter w’ith them, and kept peeping dow’u 
himself. And I said how’ wet we had got, and ” 

“Never mind! never mind!” cried her father, impatiently. 
“What is all this about boots? What does it signify what 
Colonel Aytoun’s boots were? He never had good ones, because 
he w’ould go to Wilson’s. Wilson can’t make boots. But what 
I want to know is, how you managed — how you did w’ith him — 
eh, Helen?” 

“ Oh, quite as well as could have been expected, papa; but 
he is not a nice man to have to deal with. I wdsli w ith all my 
heart w’e had never met him.” 

“Did he— eh? I suppose he reverted — eh? Was there any- 
thing unpleasant ?” 


140 


MR. SMITH. 


“Well, we had a good deal that was not pleasant, certainly; 
but on the whole we had by far the best of it. I affected to 
have been such a child at the Abbey, that he, and it too, had 
almost passed from my memory.” 

“ My dear! in four years!” 

“ Four years means a long time to a girl, papa. Besides, of 
course, it Vas a pretense, and he saw through it; but it was the 
only thing that stopped him. I brought it tq bear at every turn. 
I think if I had tried, I could not have hit on anything that 
would have hurt his vanity more; and I did like that. Oh, that 
door-bell! I thought, of course, it was Mr. Smith!” 

“ So did I!” exclaimed the other two, simultaneously. 

“ I never was so glad to see Philip before.” 

“Philip was the angel of light this time,” said Lily, laughing. 
“And as for Colonel Aytoun, he might have been "a study for 
his portrait. An angel of darkness himself could not have 
given a better scowl than the one with which he saluted Philip.” 

“ I am sure Philip gave it him back again,” said Carry, who 
had seen wonders from her post of observation. 

“ Well, the danger is over for this time,” said Helen, with an- 
other sigh. “ But mind, Lily, while he is here, you never leave 
the hall-door open again.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

BEND, STURDY OAK! 

It would have been difficult for Helen to say why she talked 
of the danger; or perhaps we ought to say, why she talked of it 
as being over. 

Colonel Aytoun was no longer dangerous to her in the way of 
attraction, and if be attempted reproaches, would get as good as 
he gave. 

If the danger lay in his mischief- making between her and Mr. 
Smith, it was assuredly not over. He had escaped meeting him 
at Freelands, it is true, but he would meet him elsewhere — at 
Sauffrenden, perhaps; and then, if they were spoken about, it 
was very probable that he might find out everything. She little 
knew how unlikely it was that they should be spoken about at 
Sauffrenden. 

But the truth w'as, Helen hardly knew what she was saying. 
The repulsion with which Colonel Aytoun’s presence now in- 
spired her was so great that she could scarcely bear it. The touch 
of his hand chilled her. To catch his eye made her shrink. The 
recollection of the evil he had done her, the evil he had meant 
to do her, and the evil he would now do her if he could, made 
even his being in the neighborhood overcloud her whole sky. 
She could not despise wdiat she so much detested, but she did 
marvel that she could ever have admired Colonel Aytoun. 

His person had grown older; and the savage temper which 
blandishments could hardly hide at any time, was now stamped 
upon his face. 

His manner to herself, too, how shameful, how degrading! 
The mocking voice whicli had called her a valuable example, 


MR. SMITH. 141 

and the sneer which underlay the assertion that she had been 
kind to him. 

It is a dreadful thing fora woman, with any womanly feeling, 
to see herself not respected; and there was not common respect, 
nor the commonest appearance of it, in Colonel Aytoun’s 
manner. 

When he grew angry he had taunted her. When his taunts 
apparently fell harmless, he had only grown more unscrupulous 
in 'making use of tliem. 

It was very well for her to say, and with truth, to her father 
and sisters, that she had the best of it. It was a triumph she 
would fain have been spared. It was one of those victories in 
which the bloodshed is greatest on the conqueror’s side. 

In her earlier days, the days of her hoyden hood, it might not 
have been felt to this extent. She might even have considered 
such a war of wits an amusing pastime; and instead of content- 
ing herself with defense, boldly carried the campaign into the 
enemy’s country. In these wars she had invariably the best of 
it, as Mrs. Hunt and many others knew to their cost. But a 
hand-to-hand fight with Colonel Aytoun was different. His 
touch was pollution — his presence a defiling thing. When she 
was rid of him, she might be excused if, hardly knowing what 
she said, she called it the “ danger.” 

The sisters were now necessarily condemned either to the 
house or to their own grounds, which were not extensive. 

To be sure there was the short cut; but by frequenting it, re- 
ports might get abroad of an understanding between them and 
Mr. Smitli. Everything that would encourage these must be 
given up for a while. They even hoped he would not come to 
Freelands. 

Carry and Lily, having seen Colonel Aytoun, were almost as 
anxious as their sister to avoid another meeting. They never 
should know how to answer him as Helen did, and agreed that 
he had a horrid smile, and a malevolent eye. Besides which, he 
paid them no attention, and had looked older than they expected. 

“ I told you that,” said Helen. “ He is fifty if he is a day. I 
rather suspect he is a year or two older.” 

‘‘ But I did not think he would look it. I imagined a tall, 
dark, melancholy-looking man, a sort of Don Juan.” 

You could not have hit him off better, Lily.” 

Oh, no, he is not my ideal at all.” 

“ So that is your ideal ?” 

“Yes, quite. To tell you the truth, I had rather prepared my 
mind to be captivated with your hete noire,"' 

“ Captivated!” 

“ Well, I’m not; so you need not look like that. For one 
thing he stooped, and his eyebrows were too thick; but the 
worst was, I am certain he had false teeth. T heard them rattle 
in his mouth— I know I did; and after that, I could have 
snapped my fingers at him.” 

“You had better not, Lily.” 

‘ Oh, I shall do nothing rash; I did not mean that. Only that 


143 MR. SMITH. 

I did wonder how you could ever have cared to go on with a 
man of that age.” 

“lam not particular as to age. For that matter, older men 
are often far more dangerous than the very young ones. They 
are so soft. Just like the young trees, tender and sappy, the 
least thing kills them. But I like to say, ‘Bend, sturdy oak!’” 
cried the saucy girl in her triumph. 

“It was a good thing that fancy took you just when Mr. 
Smith came,” rejoined Lily. “ You are bending him, or I am 
mistaken.” • 

“And it takes all my strength, and that is what I like. He 
gives way a little, inclines on one side; I think I will have him 
down, and lo! he is upright again with a spring.” 

“Every stroke tells, however,” said Lily, carrying on the 
metaphor. 

Helen smiled. “I think he is beginning to show signs of 
wear. The resistance is getting feebler. Courage, Helen! ‘ One 
struggle more ’ — how does it go on ?” 

“ Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Lily; “ that is not the meaning at all. 
But I like your oak. I don’t know why it should be, but I like 
him better after to-day. He rises by comparison with Colonel 
Aytoun. At least there is nothing false about him, and he has 
such a much pleasanter voice.” 

Helen was very much pleased. A concession so great as this 
could hardly have been looked for from the volatile Lily. She 
slipped her arm within her sister's, and began to talk of Mr. 
Smith moi-e seriously than she had ever done before. 

“Y^ou see, Lily, I really do like him. He is very pleasant. 
He is as kind as he can be. He would allow me to have my own 
way in everything, and we should have such fun up there. I am 
sure I should never feel the least inclined to do anything he dis- 
liked. I would be as good to him as possible. And his plans 
and his cottages — it is really verj’^ nice of him, and quite the 
right thing for a country gentleman. He gets on so well with 
everybody to . . Look how he got into the Sauffrendens’ set at once, 
and the Lorrimers are his great friends; and these Aytouns who 
ask nobody, they had him at the Abbey. They never have any- 
body there except girls to flirt with. But every one seems to like 
Mr. Smith.'’ 

“Yes,” Lily agreed, doubtfully; and barely remembered in 
time, not to add, “ It is very strange,” before her sister. 

The truth of the statement she could not deny. But she felt 
it was a curious mystery, of which the most curious part was 
Nelly’s own share in it. 

But how charming it would be to feel really rich! They were 
very short of money just then at Freelands. The mourning for 
their grandmother had cost more than she left them; and 
though, to do the girls justice, they made their funds go further 
than many would, the bills were heavy. 

Their iricome was not large; Mr. Tolleton’s fortune being in- 
vested so that it yielded only a small though safe return. It 
was tied up for his daughters. He was not at liberty to touch 
it, or alter its disposal. 


MR. SMITH. 


143 


The spacious mansion of the Hill, with its air of wealthy luxu- 
rious calm, had greatly impressed Helen. She was not a foolish 
girl, and where money was not to be had, contrived to do with- 
out it. She had never run into debt, and kept her sisters out of 
it hkewise. But she dearly loved the things which money could 
purchase. Her very abstemiousness at present gave her a double 
zest for them. 

She longed to go out into the world: to see and bci seen; to 
travel, in pretty traveling-dresses, from one fashionable spot to 
tlie other. Further, she desired adventure, she panted after 
freedom and emancipation. Mr. Smith’s having shown a roving 
taste had been two-thirds in his favor. 

Then, when at home, she had a fancy for bright little pony- 
carriages, and a supple hunter to carry her out, the admiration 
of the field. Of course, as Mr. Smith did not hunt, she could 
not follow the hounds either. That prospect must be relin- 
quished; but she would be able to dally round the meet, to show 
herself at the breakfast, to get snatches of the sport by many a 
little turn and by-path. 

All this, if need be, she could go without. Had she not been 
the one to insist on laying down the carriage, when, the winter 
before, one horse had died and the other had been obliged to be 
shot ? 

People had almost pitied the Tolletons then. 

But the girls made so light of their misfortune, and looked so 
healthy and handsome walking about in their bright-colored pet- 
ticoats, that the pity died out. 

They were known to be fond of riding, but no one ever offered 
them a mount. They walked when they went to make their 
calls. They walked to church in all weathers. 

Lord Sauffrenden alone felt for them. Captain Well wood, 
who trudged many a mile to save his own beautiful pair, saw no 
hardship in it. Mr. Smith knew nothing of the matter. Dr. 
Hunt thought it did them all the good in the world. 

As the sisters talked confidentially over Helen’s prospects, on 
that Christmas eve, they spoke of their loss. 

“ It would be a comfort to have a carriage again,” said Lily. 
“ 1 wonder how many Mr. Smith has.” 

“ I have seen two, and a gig, and I think there is a pony-car- 
riage in the stables.” 

“ How did you find out that ?” 

“ I forget how. Not from himself; the Hunts, I think. By the 
way, I wonder if Maria is learning to drive yet-. Oh, Lily, I al- 
ways forgot to tell you of our visit to the Hunts the day of the 
snow-storm. Colonel Aytoun put it out of my head. It was 
papa’s idea. It was to make sure that the doctor had paid liis 
visit. Now, what do you think is the new alarm ? We are dis- 
posed of, but a formidable antagonist has arisen in the sliape of 
Miss Fulton. Poor Miss Fulton! Imagine her feelings if she 
knew she was regarded as the rival of Maria Hunt! It appears, 
however, that Miss Fulton is the wife the Sauffrendens have 
looked out for Mr. Smith, and beyond a doubt the most suitable 
one that ha« been thought of yet. If it had not been for oqe 


144 MB. SMITH. 

single objection, she is the very person I should have fixed upon 
myself.” 

“ But I suppose,” said Lily, slowly, “ that there is nothing in 
it ?” 

“ Do you wish to know what he thinks of her? She talks too 
loud, and too fast, and too much.” 

“ She may talk him into marrying her, for all that.” 

Helen smiled proudly. “I don’t think you would be afraid, 
if you had heard the rest. There was a very pretty distinction 
drawn between her and your dear sister. I do like Mr. Smith. 
I like his way of saying things. I like the fun of^ having them 
all after him, and knowing what I know, all the time. Not but 
what I exonerate Cornelia.” 

“Yes,” said Lily: “she is too mad to do anything half so 
sane.” 

“ It is the Admiral, of course. But there the Hunts were, all 
in a fever about it. What might be Miss Fulton’s age? Had 
she not grown much older-looking lately ? Was she not obliged 
to go about very shabby? Were not things at the Hall all gone 
to rack and ruin ? This was all, as it were, in joke, you know. 
She would make an excellent wife for Mr. Smith, would she 
not ? If only he could fancy her. The misfortune was, that old 
bachelors never did take to sensible, experienced women, they 
fancied silly, frolicky girls, who would plague their lives out. 
Poor Miss Fulton! They hoped she was not building upon it. 
They heard she and the Admiral had been very assiduous. It 
would be a sad pity if she laid herself out to catch him, and so 
forth. You have no idea how absurd the whole scene was. I 
was treasuring up every word; and then, after all, it went out 
Of my head.” 

“ But what did you say ?” 

“Of course I gave the idea every encouragement: that is to 
say I affected to disbelieve every word of it. Nothing of the 
6ort had ever reached our ears, and we should surely have heard 
if there had been any grounds for it. I imagined any danger to 
Mr. Smith’s heart lay nearer home. But, all the time, I took 
care they should have no real grounds for disbelief to rest on. We 
talked of nothing else the wliole visit, for every time I said I was 
sure there was nothing, I laid such an emphasis on the sure, that 
it was quite enough to turn the scales. People don’t say they 
are sure of things, unless they are not. Poor folks! what geesb 
they did make of themselves! I think even Mr. Smith would 
have thought it fair to show them up.” 

“ He would have enjoyed it immensely.” 

“ I don’t know that he would.” 

“ Why, he is not a prig, whatever he may be,” 

“ Without being a prig, he is the most straightforward man I 
ever knew. If he ever should be anything to me, I mean to 
take a lesson from him how to behave myself better.” 

“ I think the lessons have begun already, Nelly. You are 
always wondering what he would say to this and that. Next 
time you are in difficulties, you had better go to him for advice.” 

It was spoken in jest, but her sister saw no jest in it. Had she 


MB, SMITH. 


145 


had any difficulties to contend against, unconnected with the 
difficulty of marrying him, she would have asked his advice be- 
fore that of any one else she knew. When in his society, she 
had that delightful sense of being regarded with favor, which 
dissipates fear. She felt invariably that he was conscious of her 
presence. Did she move from ohe chair to another — he was 
looking. Did she talk to others — he was listening. She was the 
one person in the room for him. Her conquest, so far, had been 
easy, but it was not yet complete. She thought of Colonel Ay- 
toun, and felt it might never be completed. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

SKATING. 

Many days now passed in the same monotonous manner. 

Christmas Day and New-Year’s Day went by, and notliing oc- 
curred to stir up the people of Eastworld. If the party at Sauf- 
frenden were having a merry time, none of their mirth, at any 
rate, extended itself beyond the Castle walls. 

The Aytouns, if still there, must have paid a visit of at least a 
fortnight's duration, and it was reasonable to suppose it must be 
nearly at an end. So argued Lily Tolleton; and she enforced 
the certainty with all the weighty reasoning which a hard frost 
and a glorious skating day could* suggest. 

It was too tiresome, this being shut out from the world. Why 
should they not break loose for once, and all three adjourn to 
the meadows ? Everybody would be there, and if Colonel Ay- 
toun was, it could not be helped. But, at the same time, she 
was sm-e he would not. “ Listen, Nelly. Ten days is a proper 
Christmas visit, and they have been there a fortnight. We 
know there is no love lost between them and the Sauffrendens, 
and it is most unlikely that the very first time they have come 
at all, they would stay long.” 

Helen was not equally certain of this. If Colonel Aytoun wished 
to stay, he would stay. He was no observer of etiquette. Then 
lier sister put forth a still more forcible argument. He had never 
repeated his call at Freelands. Helen herself had been confident 
that if he remained in the neighborhood he would be there again 
ere long. 

She admitted the tnith of this, and owned that as each day 
had closed in peace, she had breathed a sigh of relief. Still she 
wmuld not go to the meadows, herself. If they liked to go, it 
was different. There might be no harm in that; and soon she 
had talked herself into the belief that there might even be good. 
She was growing hungry for news. 

All the time they were dressing she gave instructions. They 
were, if possible, to avoid speaking to Colonel Aytoun, but to take 
every means of ascertaining whether he were on the ice or not. 
If not, to discover if he had quitted the neighborhood. If they 
actually met face to face, they were to tell him (in answer, of 
course, only to inquiry) that she had a headache, and was con- 
fined to her own room. 

If Mr. Smith were on the meadows, they were to come across 


146 


MU. SMITH. 


him by accident, but not to remain in his company more than a 
few minutes. “ He will be easily skated away from!” inter- 
posed Lily. 

“ You had better not boast too soon,” replied her sister. “ He 
has spent winters in Holland on purpose to enjoy it.” 

She then resumed the leading-strings. 

They were to go up to Miss Clay, and be very civil; and not 
forget to ask after Mis. Eodney and the baby — the baby was a 
girl. 

With Philip Well wood they might flirt as much as they 
pleased. 

These were the chief instructions of the embassy. In addition, 
they were to keep their eyes and ears open, to learn anything 
more that was to be learnt, either about the Hunts or Miss 
Fulton, and to note what guests were among the Castle party. 

All these duties the sisters faithfully undertook to discharge, 
to the best of their ability, and set off in high spirits for the 
rendezvous. 

Miss Tolleton then bolted herself into her room; and Corker 
received the usual intimation from the ladies, with their hats 
and cloaks on, that they were “not at home.” 

With this reply he went prepared to answer the door bell 
about an hour after the house was quiet. 

“ Miss Tolleton is at home, I know,” rejoined the inquirer — 
the same who had set aside his refusal of admittance before. 
“ Be so good as to take her my card.” 

Without hesitation, the butler accepted the card. He was ac- 
customed to this sort of thing. The drawing-room was empty, 
but he sent it up-stairs by a maid. 

“ I knew it!” said Helen, breathing heavily as the light tap 
came to her door. “ He has come straight off here. Yes, I will 
come, Thompson.” 

Thompson presented the card. 

“Tell him I am sorry, but I cannot see any one to- day. I am 
obliged to stay in my room, having a headache.” 

Would he go, or would he not? If not, he should have a 
plainer answer still; but she felt that if that light tap were to 
come again, she would not unbolt the door; it would be too 
unsafe. 

Three or four minutes* suspense, then a rustle, and then it 
came. 

“ I cannot get up again, Thompson. What is it?” 

“ If you please, miss,” came a voice that was alternately aloud 
whisper and a low growl, “ it’s the gentleman saying he thought 
as how you would see him perhaps, as he came on business.” 

“No power on earth shall make me see him,” said Helen to 
herself, her spirit rising. “ I can't. I cannot; and more than 
that. I will not. All along I felt this was coming. Thompson!” 

“Yes, miss; I am here.” 

“ Go down and see the gentleman yourself, and tell him, with- 
out any more excuses, that I cannot see him. Just those words 
and no more.” 

Another five minutes elapsed after the maid’s departure, and 


MR, 8MITU. 14'3 

then the sound of footsteps beneath the window told that her 
second errand had sped. 

blind was down, the window was open, and 
Miss lolleton wished her room had not looked to the front. She 
held hei breath; so loud, so near, sounded the heavy tramp upon 
the gravel. In another minute she had crept to the window 
and peered behind the screen. He was at the gate. She was 
just in time to see him close it, then stand a moment, and look 
steadfastly toward the house. 

What was in his mind ? 

Carry and Lily came home full of gossip. Colonel A vtoun 
had accosted them on their very first appearance at the meadows. 
He had come across the ice, shaken hands with both, and im- 
mediately inquired after their sister. Lily had answered him 
according to all that Helen had said, and he had hardly waited 
to hear her out ere he started off along the road, bound, no doubt, 
for Freelands. 

As Helen had vowed not to leave her room, and Corker had 
received instructions, it had not occasioned them the least anx- 
iety: and they had even amused themselves by imagining the re- 
ception he would have, as they watched his long back hurrying 
down the road. 

Mr. Smith had also asked after Miss Tolleton; but on hearing 
of her indisposition had merely expressed regret, and remained 
where he was. 

“ We fully expected to see him set off too,” said Lily. “If 
there had been any more friends of yours on the ice, I should 
certainly have dispatched them all up. Mr. Smith was lukewarm, 
decidedly lukew^arm, Nelly. He went on skating with the 
utmost composure. He performed the vine dii*ectly after, with- 
out a stumble.” 

“Do you mean that he vv as doing figures ?” said Helen, with 
interest. 

“Yes, indeed — a little stiffly, but still far better than any one 
else. There were no really good skaters there.” 

“ Did you see nothing of Pliilip?” 

“ Only in the distance, going down a slide with Lord Sauffren- 
den, and all the boys in the village. Lord Sauffrenden got 
knocked down once or twice, and each time w’e heard Philip’s 
great ‘ Haw! haw!’ coming across the ice. You know his laugh. 
He only laughs a,bout twice a year, and then it is like thunder.” 

“ He didn’t come up to you?” 

“ No; he pretended not to see us. They were having great 
fun, and I don’t think he wanted to be troubled. We skated 
several times round them.” 

“If I had been there,” thought Helen, “T think he would 
have come.” 

“ At last he walked off with Mr. Smith,” concluded Lily. 

“ Did he? Where could they be going? To the Hill?” 

“ Yes; I think so, at least. I heard Philip call out something 
about ten o’clock, and one of the men touched his hat. I sup- 
pose he has gone to dine there.” 

“ And what about Miss Fulton?” inquired Helen, 

rr 


148 


MR. SMITH. 


Oh, Miss Fulton! Lily had a fund of informal ion and merri- 
ment about Miss Fulton. The way she and the Admiral Lad 
borne down on Mr. Smith, the way Mr. Smith had sailed away 
from them, the way the Admiral had hobbled round on his 
gouty leg, and caught him up again; and best of all, the way 
Cornelia had joined with him, and smiled, and chatted, and 
pursued from point to point; yet doing it all in such evident 
innocence and unconsciousness, that it was a treat to watch her. 

The Hunts, however, who were incapable of understanding 
such a happy state of mind, had been wild with jealousy. They 
too had tried to chase down Mr. Smith, but not with equal success. 
Lily thought he had never even spoken to them, but Carry cor- 
rected her. He had; he had stayed with them about five min- 
utes, but after that she was certain he had been keeping out of 
their way. 

Mrs. Hunt, with a fierce, anxious face, had hauled the two 
hither and thither, and kept them standing by the side till they 
must have been half frozen, but all to no end. They were still 
there when the Tolletons had left, the girls looking sulky and 
rather ashamed. Miss Clay had been left in their charge by her 
brother-in-law. and Mrs. Hunt had appeared to be somewhat 
consoled by this attention, though Lily affirmed that even Maria 
and Clare looked respectable by the side of Miss Clay, who had 
got herself up a perfect fright. 

The first laish of the incoming tide having now subsided, Helen 
was at liberty to dilate upon what had happened at home, which 
she did with animation. 

The bell, the voices, the light tap at the door, were graphi- 
cally portrayed. The suspense between the first and second 
appearance of the maid — the crunching footstep on the gravel 
—the look backward from the gate, — all in turn were dwelt 
upon. 

“Don’t j'ou think it was a pity to send so very plain a mes- 
sage ?” said Lily, prudent for once. 

“ I knew it was at the time; but it was the only thing I could 
do. If I had had any other excuse — but, however, it was better 
to stick to one. No, the headache did very well. He ought not 
to have shown he did not believe in it. But it was just like him. 
He has no more idea of paying you the common ordinary respect 
of pretending to believe in what he is told, than — I am sure I 
don’t know what.” 

“ What do you think he will do now ?” 

“Nothing, if we can keep him at a distance. The only way 
is to defy boldly, when you are driven into a corner.” 

“I was so disappointed,” said Carry, in her slow way. “I 
thought I heard him tell Miss Fulton that they were going on 
Saturday. I thought I should have that to tell. And she said 
she was so glad. ‘ So I’m sure am I?’ I thought. But the next 
moment it turned out to be not Ay touns going, but the Lorrimers 
coming.” • 

“You stupid!” said Helen, laughing. “How could you 
imagine she would tell Colonel Aytoun she was glad he was 
going ?' 


MR, SMITH, 149 

“Of course, said Carry warmly, “I knew she ought not to 
say it, but she is so odd. I put it down to that.” 

“Carry would never have said it herself,” said Lily, looking 
at her. 

“ Of course not,” rejoined Carry again. “How could you 
ever think I should ? I never say rude things like that. No- 
body knows better than I what I am about, though you and 
Helen don’t think so. I can answer better than either of you 
when I choose.” 

“It’s a pity you don’t choose oftener then,” said Lily, dryly. 


CHAPTER XXTI. 

HE HAD GUESSED THE INDUCEMENT. 

When Colonel Aytoun looked back after closing the gate at 
Freelands, he was not hurling imprecations on the head of its 
inhabitant, nor even vowing eternal vengeance. In these days 
such magnificent sensations are unusual. 

But, nevertheless, there was working within his bosom a feel- 
ing, which with care might have been nursed into a very re- 
spectable thirst for revenge. He longed to pay her out. He had 
never been treated so in his life before. He said to himself that 
no woman had ever yet turned her back upon him. 

Strange as this might seem if true, it was true after a fashion. 

So short a time did he allow to elapse before his affections fell 
from warm to freezing-point, that it was scarcely possible for 
any one to anticipate him. 

On first acquaintance he was charming; and he never declined 
— he jumped from one extreme to the other. One day lying at 
a fair one’s feet, the next walking off in another direction. But 
Helen had been an exception to this rule, from the beginning of 
his acquaintance with her. Her beauty had caught his eye. 
Her ready wit amused his fancy. And the freedom from re- 
straint, and fearlessness of the world’s criticism, which, joined 
to the ignorance of motherless seventeen, bad made her ready to 
learn \\ hatever he taught, and willing to obey whatever he or- 
dered, had completed the charm. 

He would mold her to his will. There were no bounds to 
what she would do for him. She must be his entirely. 

That she had burst away from him in a rage was rather stim- 
ulating than otht?rwise. He had not wearied of her, and he had 
not done with her. He had brought his wife to Sauffrenden on 
purpose to pursue her, for the unhappy Emmeline was his only 
key of entrance there. She had been made to write and pro- 
pose the visit; and when it was accepted he had grimly jested 
with her in the satisfaction of liis heart. 

To be met thus I 

Looked at, spoken to, like a serpent deprived at once of its 
charm and its sting. And the end! Turned from the door, be- 
cause, forsooth, his importunity was too troublesome, his com- 
pany too insipid. Miss Tolleton was fatigued with admiration, 
his w’as altogether superfluous. 

His vanit}% however, would not long permit him to take this 


150 


MR. SMITH. 


view of the case. It is difficult to sustain painful thoughts of 
ourselves for any length of time. Any other interpretation, any 
other solution of the enigma, would be welcome. 

He thought of Philip. But the more he thought of him the 
more his conviction amounted to an instinct that he was not the 
man. Whoever it was, it was not he. That being the case, 
Philip might be made of use in discovering to him who it was. 

He regretted that he had not cultivated Captain Wellwood’s 
good will. A fellow who gave himself such confounded airs was 
not likely to be brought round in a hurry. He might be tried, 
but could not be depended upon. 

On a sudden he recollected Sir George Lorrimer. Sir George 
was at present unknown to him, but he and Lady Lorrimer were 
-expected at the Castle in a few days, and their acquaintance 
could be assiduously sought. Now that he was prepared before- 
hand he would use all his powers of ingratiation. It mattered 
not who or what sort of person he was; he would take color by 
him, and attain the coveted information. Sir George, he was 
aware, had been in the neighborhood before, and probably knew 
all about Miss Tolleton. 

Lord Sauffrenden, before he went to the ice, sent up his port- 
manteau to the station, intending to run up to London for a few 
days, and have, as he told his wife, a breath of fresh air, before 
inhaling more of his guest’s society. 

In his own house he jaid to himself he could not be bad to 
Colonel Aytoun; and though this being bad simply meant with 
him coming short of the veriest extreme of brotherly kindness, 
still it made him constrained and uncomfortable. 

He was not enjoying his Christmas, and at last determined in 
cowardly fashion to run away from it. 

As for MiUy, she need have nothing to do with Aytoun. If she 
and Emmeline and Mary Peroy kept together there was no fear 
of their being molested. The obnoxious guest had gone through 
his usual stages with all three, although in the case of Lady 
Sauffrenden the preliminary stage had been very brief, for her 
being his wife’s cousin and steady friend had developed the 
second prematurely. 

But Milly cared not a jot for him. 

As soon as her “ Good morning” had been bowed across the 
breakfast-table, she ignored his existence for the rest of the day. 
She had nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be ashamed of, 
nothing in her life past and present which all the world might 
not pry into. What was Colonel Aytoun to her ? A man she 
would not have had seen at her house but for poor dear Emme- 
line’s sake. 

Yes, Sauffrenden might go if he chose. If she had been in his 
place very likely she would have done the same; and she quite 
agreed with him as to the propriety of putting Rosamond off till 
after the Aytouns had left. 

This was Lord Sauffrenden’s business in town. He was to see 
his sister, and advise her to postpone her visit till they were free. 

“ I shall tell her that, of course; we can’t turn them away as 
long as they choose to stay,” said he; “though it’s the last 


MU, SMITH, 


151 


Christmas I shall catch myself having them here, spoiling our 
whole party. It has been a perfect marplot.” 

“ Poor Emmy! I am glad for her sake, however,” said Milli- 
cent, tenderly. “You have no idea how nice she is, Sauffren- 
den. And she seems quite a different creature when she is out 
alone with Mary and me. She laughs and talks, and gets such 
a color. Anti then she comes down to dinner all cold and dead 
again, as if he had withered her up. Fancy what it must be to be 
alone with him! She said to me yesterday she did hope we could 
put up with them for a very little longer, she did not know 
when she had enjoyed herself so much. Those were her 
words.” 

“ Poor thing! What a brute he is!” 

“ And you know, she tries to put a good face upon it. I think 
that is the most touching part,” said the proud unemotional little 
Lady Sauffrendeu, with a sudden break in her voice. “I can 
scarcely bear to hear her poor excuses, and see how she looks to 
find out if we are taken in by them. She never complains. She 
talks about the Abbey as if everybody pictured it a happy home 
instead of a great prison. I wish you had heard her yesterday, 
finding out all sorts of reasons why she and I had seen so little 
of each other, and all the time the one reason as palpable as it 
could be to both of us.” 

“ Has she any idea why they are staying on ?” 

“ No. I suppose he likes it.” 

“ Don’t you tell her then!” 

“Tell her? How can I? I don’t know myself. What do you 
mean, Sanffrenden ?” all eager and curious now. “ What reason 
is there?” 

“ Nothing, nothing,” shuffling uneasily in his chair. 

“ Oh, there is, and you know it; I see you do. How could you 
keep it from me ? Come, now, you must tell me now. You 
must, and there's no escape; you must, you must,” flying round 
him, brush in hand. “ I have you here, caught, and pinned into 
a corner. Come, there is no help for it. Now then.” 

And he had meant to be so discreet! 

“ I wish you wouldn't ask me, Milly; I may be all wrong. I 
know nothing about it. It’s only Philip.” 

“ Well, what about Philip? Philip is the very man for you; 
he acts pointer, and then you shoot.” 

“ I can act pointer for myself,” said he, offended. “ I should 
hope I am as good as Philip any day. He never discovers half 
the things 1 do.” 

“ Yes, yes — I know. • Now, then, tell me this. What has 
Philip penetrated into this time— for you have owned yourself 
this is his affair ?’’ 

“ He didn’t want it spoken about,” groaned he. 

“ You need not be afraid. Who have I to speak to? I prom- 
ise. There!” 

. “Oh, hang it! you are such a creature for finding things 
out!*’ 

“ Yes, yes, I am,” cried she, with the glee of a child. “ I have 
found out the half already, now for the rest!” 


15 ^ 


MR. SMITH. 


There was no escape. Sitting in Milly’s room, by Milly’s fire, 
in dressing-gown and slippers, how could he be anything but an 
easy prey ? 

He had done his best, and now gave in. 

Philip’s visit and Philip’s surmises were unfolded; and how- 
ever much the revelation might be softened by the veil of char- 
ity which the narrator endeavored to throw over it, it was still 
startling. The veil, stretched to its utmost limits, could not 
cover all; and while they were both agreed in sheltering Philip, 
they differed in the disposal of the rest. He would fain have 
bid the luckless T’s, while she was more willing, or rather less 
reluctant to screen Colonel Aytoun. 

She disliked Emmeline’s husband, it is true, but had no past 
love of him, no present dread of him, to swell her dislike into de- 
testation. 

He was all that was bad, she admitted, but one thing more or 
less matters little when a man is all that is bad; and the first 
fiush of her wrath fell on the Tolletons. 

“ I knew they had stayed at the Abbey. Emmy told me. 
She would not even see them, SauffrendenI She was in her room 
at the time, but not exactly ill, only kept quiet; and if it bad 
been any one else she would have been only too glad to have had 
a little company. She was actually sending for her, when Eger- 
ton himself advised her not. At least, he spoke in such a way 
of her that it was quite enough. Yet they stayed nearly a 
month! Of course it was dreadful for Emmy.” 

‘ ‘ Of course it was. But all the same he took a very easy way 
of keeping her out of his wife’s room.” 

“Yes; anyone could tell that was what he wanted. But she 
affected to think it was all on the lady’s side. I suppose they 
wanted to be together, and contrived this plan.” 

“ Or he contrived it.” 

“ But no nice girl would have done it.” 

“ Milly, I am not defending her. I never said she was a nice 
girl, but she was a mere child, and left all to herself,” 

“ Her father was with her.” 

“ You know what he is.” 

“ I do not indeed; I know nothing about him.” 

“ He is the most perfect nonentity. A man like Aytoun would 
twist him round his finger. I do think you are rather hard on 
those poor girls, Milly. I do indeed, dear.” 

This tone always brought Milly to her better mind. 

“ Do you think lam hard, you dear old fellow V You are so 
good and nice yourself— I love you all the better for it— but in- 
deed you are too — at least I cannot see things exactly as you 
do. This Helen Tolleton is no child now; she is at least as old as 
I am ’’ 

“ She is only twenty-one.” 

“ Well, that is but a year younger; though how you came to 
know it I cannot imagine.” 

“Oh, I always know people’s ages.” 

“ Does Philip find them out for you too?” 


MR. SMITH. 


153 


^ “ No indeed; it is I who find out for myself. What puts 
Philip into your head at every tiii n ?” 

“ Only that I fancied he was very likely to know Miss Tolle- 
ton’s age.” 

“That is a mistake, Milly. He doesn’t care twopence about 
her. I have told you so over and over again. He thinks of them 
exactly as we do.” 

“ But we do not think exactly alike.” 

Sauffrenden looked disturbed. “ I’m sure we do, dear. We 
do not either of us like them; but I think, and so would you if 
you thought about it, that in good hands they might be made 
something of yet.” 

“ But how are they to get into good hands ?” 

(“Mr. Smith’s hands,” thought he, “they could get into fast 
enough, if they only were let alone.”) 

“ Now you see,” pm’sued Milly, “here is this Egerton finds 
them out at once. That won’t enhance their good reputation.” 

“No. That is the way of the world, and more particularly 
the way of the women’s world, my dear. A blackguardly fel- 
low goes and calls. The girls are cold to him and snub him, and 
show him they wish to see his face no more. No harm is thought 
of him; but they— oh I it was shocking of themP 

“ I should think it was harm enough of him that it should be 
thought shocking of them,” said she nettled. 

“ There you are — you always catch one up so. Now I bet you 
a sovereign they give him the cold shoulder the next time he goes. 
Philip said he was certain from Helen’s manner that she wished 
to have done with him.” 

“ And what is the reason of this change of manner?” 

“Just what I said. She was a mere child at the Abbey, and 
thought it was good fun to romp with him. Now, she knows 
better. I mean to go down to the meadows, and watch what 
goes on. ’ 

Thus he closed the conference, and prepared for himself a 
charming little entertainment at the same time. 

So contrary, however, did things turn out on that occasion, 
that he prudently resolved to say nothing about it on his return 
from town, and trust to the subjects being forgotten. 

He had seen Colonel Aytoun accost the sisters on their first 
appearance, and he and Philip had looked into each other’s eyes 
when immediately afterward they descried him on the way 
to Freelands. She had remained at home, and he had gone to 
see her. 

Dett'-rmined not to be left alone after dinner with the obnoxious 
guest, and unable to run away like Sauffrenden, Philip had hit on 
the happy idea of Mr. Smith, whom the Admiral had lately cap- 
tured for the fourth time. He made in to the rescue, extracted 
the prey, and obtained as his reward the coveted invitation. 

Lord Sauffrenden told one of his men to let the ladies know, 
and desired Captain Wellwood to name the hour he would be 
sent for. 

“ Why should he be sent for at all?” interposed Mr. Smith. 
“ Why should he not keep me company for a day or two while 


154 


MR. SMITH. 


you are away? I am alone. I need him. Come, Captain Well- 
wood, show yourself good-natured, and have pity on a lonely 
man.” 

Philip hesitated. 

“You are his only check,” said Sauffrenden, in a low voice. 

“ You are awfully good; but I think, and Lord Sauffrenden 
thinks, perhaps we can hardly both leave Colonel Aytoun,” said 
Philip to Mr. Smith. “He knows he is no favorite already, 
and it might seem rude. Mrs. Aytoun might think it rude.” 

“Very true,” said Mr. Smith, hastily. The allusion to Mrs. 
Aytoun pleased him. 

“ The fact is,” said Philip, looking him full in the face, “ they 
are friends of yours, so you know all about it; one could not put 
up with him a day, if it were not for his wife.” 

“And you see,” added his friend, growing still more con- 
fidential, “ it’s rather shabby to leave Wellwood alone; but I 
can’t stand it any longer. So, if you would go up there to- 
morrow, and make a third, instead of his coming to you, it 
would really be awfully kind. But I’m afraid you would 
hate it.” 

“ Certainly I will go. But to be as frank with you as you 
are with me. Colonel Aytoun is no friend of mine.” 

“Of course he is not, sir,” said Lord Sauffrenden, warmly. 
“No one would ever suppose that he could be. The greatest 
beast I ever knew in my life. His very being in a house brings 
it into bad odor. The moment it was known he was here we 
got nothing but excuses from everybody. Spoilt our whole 
party and everything. But — well, his wife is my wife’s cousin, 
and, poor thing, a sad time she has of it at home, so we ought 
not to grudge her a holiday. They may stay as long as they 
like; but I won’t have ray sister here with them, and that’s why 
I am going up to town. "l hate to see him look at a woman. 
What is his inducement to stay, however, 1 cajinot imagine.” 

It was one of Lord Sauffrenden’s peculiarities that whenever 
he was nervous, or taken by surprise, he, in the common phrase, 
lied like a hatter. Nothing could stop him, and nothing could 
cure him, for he did it spontaneously and unconsciously. 

It had just occurred to him to wonder what Mr. Smith would 
feel if he discovered, or even suspected, tlie object of Colonel 
Aytoun’s present pursuit; and being immediately thrown into 
confusion by the idea, he took as naturally to subterfuge as a 
rabbit to its hiding-place. 

Philip understood, and it amused him. But the smile died 
away from his lips as he saw that Mr. Smith looked impene- 
trably grave. 

He had guessed the inducement. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

AFTER DINNER. 

Mr. Smith had asked the curate to join him and Philip at din- 
ner, but the invitation had been reluctantly declined. Mr. Rod- 
ney would have liked very much to accept, but it was Wednes* 


3fR. SMITH, 155 

day, and he never dined out on Wednesdays. The two gentlemen 
were therefore alone. 

Dinner being over, they drew their chairs round a blazing and 
crackling wood- fire; having a small table, with the decanters on 
it, between them. It was very comfortable, very quiet, very 
warm; and, tb tell the truth, the wine was very good. 

Two more temperate men — temperate in neither going to one 
extreme nor the other — did not exist; but they each knew what 
good wine was. 

They were troubled in spirit, and cast down, and the wine 
comforted them. They had been walking, running, standing, 
and skating all day long m the sharp air, and the wine revived 
them. They sank back in their easy-chairs, watching the play 
of fire-light on the polished steel; listening to the monotonous 
drone of the black cat purring, as she stretched herself at full 
length, and nestled into the shaggy fringes of the Turkey rug, 
hooking it with her claws, and rubbing against it her sleepy 
head ; and as they gently sipped the nectar, a spirit of resignation 
and contentment stole over them. 

The afternoon had been filled with dull forebodings, disagree- 
able and dim revelations. Each had felt depressed, scarcely 
knowing why, unless it were that Colonel Aytoun’s company 
was like a nightmare. To get away from him w^as in itself a 
relief. Philip breathed a sigh of satisfaction as he thought of 
his escape. 

Here there was calm, peace, and rest. Mr. Smith — yes. Lady 
Sautfrenden might say what she liked of him now— he was the 
best of fellows, and his wine was superlative. 

Soon they grew confidential. It was easy to introduce the 
subject which in common filled their minds. Colonel Aytoun 
seemed a great way off from that quiet crimson-curtained room, 
shut in by its barrier of frosty gloom outside. 

From confiding in each other what they thought of him, what 
they had heard of him, and what they believed of him, it grad- 
ually became clear that each wished to discover if the other 
had anything to fear from him. 

Mr. Smith when, through Lord Sauffrenden’s blunder, he 
guessed the inducement, had guessed it with a startling cer- 
taintv. 

It became to him a fact. He did not think, nor feel sure— he 
knew why Colonel Aytoun stayed. 

The knowledge gave him unaccountable pain, he would have 
said, for Emmeline's sake. To have Emmeline slighted, degrad- 
ed, before them all— to know that her wretched life was still 
imbiltered by fresh miseries— was it not enough to cause even 
such a pang as had shot through bis heart, when with a flash of 
light the whole stood revealed before his eyes? 

It was, it was: and yet— oh, shame to think of!— it was not 
Emmeline’s image, it was not Emmeline’s name which had 
made the bitterness of that bitter moment. He had never 
once thought of her. 

Had Captain Well wood discovered this? 

“ Our frieud,” Philip presently began, “ was talking last night 


156 


MR. SMITH. 


in his usual free strain of the eldest Miss Tolleton. It appears 
they met at Sauffrenden in the old time, and lie seems by no 
means to have forgotten it.” 

“ I knew they were acquainted. Has — have they met lately ?” 

“ He called on them last week. I happened to look in at the 
same time.” 

There was a pause — the same thought in both of their minds. 
“And he went there to-day.” 

“I think, Captain Wellwood,” said the host at length, break- 
ing the silence in an uneasy voice, “that you are a friend of 
these ladies. If it be a fair question, and you can excuse my 
putting it, do you consider he is forcing his company on them 
against tlieir inclination?” 

Here was a dilemma. A week ago he would have answered 
for them that such was the case. He could have testified from 
personal observation that they showed no desire for Colonel 
Aytoun’s society. They had betrayed, he would have confidently 
affirmed, the very reverse. 

But again, he had seen with his own eyes on this same day 
that of which he knew not what to think. Two opposite lights 
had been shed on the matter. Which was the true, and which 
the false ? 

He began slowly. 

“ That question, sir, is one I should have liked to put to you. 
I don't know what to think, for my part. The reception he 
met with, the day I was there, was anything but encouraging; 
but then, you see, my being there or not there might make all 
the difference. Miss Tolleton is no doubt very handsome and 
charming; but between ourselves she has more of 1 he cunning of 
the serpent than the innocence of the dove. There is no saying 
what tricks she might be up to.’’ 

Was there more of the cunning or the innocence in this 
speech? If the former, it answered. 

“ She is incapable of tricks,” said Mr. Smith. 

Not even an arch of the eyebrows escaped from his com- 
panion. Not a syllable, not a look of surprise. He gravely 
sipped his claret, and if he smiled, he turned the smile inward. 

“She is incapable of tricks,” pursued her champion warmly; 
“but, as you say, circumstances will alter manners. Colonel 
Aytoun is a man whom it is better to conciliate than to offend, 
and Miss Tolleton is — is a model of discretion.” 

The smile must have turned inward again. Captain Well- 
wood replied. “ Certainly.” 

“ It is not every one,” pursued Mr. Smith, “who knows the 
sort of man he is; and his manner to ladies is ” 

“ Just so — beastly.” 

His friend laughed. “I was going to say most taking, most 
engaging, but the other is perhaps quite as appropriate, in fact 
they are reconcilable. How can you expect them not to be 
taken in by it?” 

“ She would not be that,” said Philip, shortly. “ Miss Tolleton 
is not so easily taken in: but I should like to be sure she did not 
fancy him in spite of all.” 


MR. SMITH. 


In spite of all ?” 

“Oh, she knows well enough what he is,” impatiently. “It 
is patent to all the world. There have been cases which he 
would have found it hard to smother, if there had not happened 
to be others easier got hold of. The thing is not, does she know, 
but does she care ?” 

“Care ?” 

“ Some girls are not particular. Miss Tolleton is fancy free; 
she would enjoy a spicy sort of romance far more than a hum- 
drum, commonplace attachment.” 

Was this mocking voice Philip’s ? Was this sneering babbling 
fool himself? What possessed him ? A demon of mischief, or 
a demon of malice ? The moment passed, and he was himself 
again. 

Mr. Smith looked like a man who had received a blow. 

His hand shook as he raised the wine-glass to his hps, and his 
voice was gone. It was not for several minutes that he had suf- 
ticiently mastered himself to be able to reply, and then the tone 
as he spoke made his companion painfully aware of his indis - 
cretion. 

“ Perhaps you are right. She is very young; she has — no one 
else. There is one other thing I should like to say, and then we 
will close the subject. Did — I feel as if I ought hardly to ask 
it, but it is impossible for any one knowing Colonel Aytoun as I 
do, not to be anxious about his admission to the house of any 
friend — did he go there to-day?” 

“ Yes.” 

Yes he had gone; gone to seek and find her alone. Perhaps 
she had permitted him, perhaps she had even sent to him. An 
idea to be repudiated, yet, alas! not finally. Thrust it outasoften 
as he would, it rose and looked him in the face again. 

Could it, could it, could it be ? 

And then what was to be done? Were they to stand by in 
calm expectation of the end, while she might have her all at 
stake ? 

Oh, to know more! Oh, to do something! Oh, to crush that 
wretch, that fiend, that smiling, scowling, despicable hypocrite! 

And was it not cruel, afttT all, to cast a reflection upon her? 
Captain Wellwood had done so, and he had listened. He felt 
as if they were both traitors. They had no right, no warrant 
for such suspicion. They were condemning unheard — striking 
in the dark. 

His anger rose against Philip. 

With inexpressible comfort he ^}cattered his testimony to the 
winds, and scorned his base insinuations. One moment he had 
faltered, but now he knew better. He said to himself that he at 
least would be no false friend; he would be true and firm, let 
who would flinch from her side. 

When Captain Wellwood had left he thought over a plan of 
action. 

He would speak to her. He was no longer young; he might 
have been, had Emmeline been his wife, the father of girls 
pearly as old as she. He knew the man whose foul name might 


158 


MR. miTH. 


compromise hers ere she was aware, and knew him as hardly ahy 
others did. Tales might be spread wliich would never reach her 
ears — she, so bright, beautiful, guileless, thinking no evil, and 
seeing no danger. 

A shadowy phantom, subtle and gracious, stole into the seat 
beside him. Two liquid eyes appealed to his. A murmuring 
voice, a whisper too wonderful, too intoxicating for reality, filled 
his ear. 

His breath came and went; he heard, but did not believe. Ho 
dared not speak; he could not move; a spell was on all his senses. 
She touches him; she bids him know it is not a dream. A mar- 
velous thing has come to pass. Her hand is placed in his. He 
falls on his knees before her. “ Oh, Helen, Helen!’" 

Thump, bump, tumble over and over. The entrancing vision 
flies. Mr. Smith has fallen off the sofa, the clock strikes eleven, 
and the fire is nearly out. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE SECOND WALK TO THE VIEW, 


When one’s mind is made up to a thing, it is wonderful how 
soon the idea of it becomes familiar. 

Mr. Smith had no sooner decided on speaking to Miss Tolleton 
on the subject of Colonel Aytoun, than, instead of feeling it a 
burdensome duty, his repugnance to undertaking it vanished 
altogether. 

At first he had, it is true, shrunk from the suggestion. It 
would be interfering; it would be indelicate. She would be fully 
justified in resenting such a liberty. 

But other thoughts soon made their way. She would at least 
prize the motives which prompted the caution, and she would 
most certainly reap the benefit. 

Satisfied of this, it would be paltry, cowardly, in him to with- 
hold it. 

The next point was, how to get the caution imparted . 

Of course he could expose Colonel Aytoun before the whole 
party, and in such general terms as to leave out entirely any 
allusion to their ac Intance with him. 



But he did not relish this mode of treatment. It was unsatis- 
factory, and might do more harm than good. Already he pic- 
tured to himself Helen silent, with pursed lips. Carry uncom- 
prehending, and Lily vociferating volleys of interrogation. 
Nothing probably would be gained. He could not make asser- 
tions which he was not ready to prove if required, and how 
could he do that in the presence of a whole party ? Besides, it 
would be an odd, unnatural, ill-mannered thing to do. He 
could not get up and suddenly denounce an old friend, as they 
believed him to be, without any sort of introduction to the sub- 
ject. And if there were — which it was perhaps possible there 
might be— any shadow of truth in Captain Well wood's liints, to 
the extent merely that she bad been blinded by the opening 
address of this accomplished deceiver, why, of course, it would 


MU, SMITH. 159 

be the very way to rouse every generous feeling m his behalf. 
It is never safe "to turn against the absent. 

To speak to the father with the knowledge he now had of that 
father’s want of influence, he felt to be useless. 

Mr. Tolleton would go to his daughters — give his garbled ver- 
sion of the interview — set them all wild against Mr. Smith, and 
in favor of Ck)lonel Aytoun. Instead of anything being gained 
by this course, all would be lost. It would be worse than the 
other. 

One course only, then, was left open. He must speak to 
Helen, and speak to her alone. . 

If necessary, if she proved incredulous, or perhaps even if she 
needed no such confidence, he might intrust her with the story 
of his life. This was to be as he saw fit at the time. 

He began to speculate on his probable reception. It had never 
before struck him as strange that it was now three weeks since 
that memorable afternoon when she had come to him through 
the snow-storm, and he had seen nothing more of her. 

He had told her then of the Aytouns coming. He fought his 
memory to bring before him how she had received the news. 
Nothing unusual had attracted his notice in any way. He could 
not remember a word she had said. 

Still he had not seen her since; and Colonel Aytoun had, for 
certain, once, and only too probably often er. 

Carry’s and Lily’s tale of their sister’s headache recurred to his 
mind. Why had they said so to him, when immediately after 
Colonel Aytoun had left the ice ? He remembered that he had 
barely begun to ask after Miss Tolleton when they had saved 
him the trouble of going on. 

Did they want to keep him away from the house ? 

Now on one side, now on the other, argued the disturbed 
brain. 

“ If I were a young man,” said Mr. Smith to himself with a 
faint smile, “ I should begin to think I was in love. But I am 
going to do that which does not look very like a lover. I shall 
speak calmly and dispassionately. I wish to take advantage of 
my position as her father’s friend to tell her in plain terms the 
character of th& creature who is molesting her. I have no 
further interest in the matter than her welfare. She cannot 
misinterpret that, and the others shall have no chance of making 
me a laughing-stock.” 

The idea of being made a laughing-stock was, however, so dis- 
tasteful, that he could not refrain from putting forth a few 
suggestions on the other side. 

“ Of course it would be ridiculous. Of course I should never 
dream of such a thing; still, I am but fifty, and Colonel Aytoun 
is fifty -one. Captain Wellwood did not see age to be anything 
in his favor or disfavor. He certainly held it no safeguard. I 

would make her happy; I would Pooh! this is worse and 

worse. How am I ever to speak to her to-day, if I fill my head 
with such sickly rubbish? Tra-lgf-la-la-lira! A fine day for a 
walk. I must go early and get to business. Somehow or other 
the thing must be managed. Tra-la- la-la-la.” 

'•tr/,’" ■ 


ieO MR, SMITH. 

Cheerfully trolling a Tyrolean scrap, he set to work on hls 
breakfast, resolved to find his way to Freelands in the course of 
the morning, and take what chances Fortune offered for the 
interview. 

Daylight made the whole affair simpler. 

Oh for another walk to the view! 

Then at that moment the brilliant, the delightful resolve 
flashed through his mind — another walk to the view he would 
have. 

The summer-house was complete. It had been finished two 
days before, but the other events of the week had combined to 
chase it from his memory. 

Now the recollection came with exquisite surprise. 

Miss Tolleton had promised to inspect the house when fin- 
ished. He would claim her promise. He would ask her out 
before them all; and be quite frank, and open, and old-manish 
about it. They would not have anything to laugh at. 

She must come by herself — it was her summer-house; and he 
would walk off with her before all the windows of the house, as 
if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Such a day for the expedition! All the snow had melted be- 
fore the frost came. The sun shone upon sparkling meadows, 
dripping glittering icicles, cracking furrows, 

Helen Tolleton stood at the open glass-door of the drawing- 
iioom, looking out on the tempting scene with a dissatisfied air. 

“I am so sick of that plantation,” she said. “When these 
Aytouns are gone, I think I shall never enter it again. Three 
weeks! And I have hardly been anywhere else! It is too bad. 
Sometimes I could throw up the whole affair, if it were not that, 
having gone so far, it would be a pity to undo all when it may 
be near the end.” 

“ I suppose we shall meet him,” said Carry, to whom this was 
addressed. “ Lily and I are going to the village, and he is gen- 
erally somewhere on the road.” 

“ How do you know that? You have never met him.” 

“He told us yesterday, before he came up here, that he had 
been looking out for us every day, and wondered we never went 
to the village.” 

“ You did not tell me that. How glad I am we took the pre- 
caution! Well, I shall persevere a little longer, but as for you 
two, it really does not signify; he can get nothing out of you. 
Let Lily answer him; she can, if she takes care.” 

“So could I,” grumbled Carry, offended as she always was 
at this suggestion. “ You and Lily always fancy I make mis- 
takes, whereas the truth is, I never made one yet. But as for 
Colonel Aytoun, I am sure I have no wish to speak to liim.” 

“If one only knew where he was!” said Helen, despondingly. 
“ If I could but know he was safe anywhere else, I sliould 
like so much to go too.” 

“ Don’t get down-hearted^ Nelly,” said her other sister, com- 
ing in. “We’ll find out all we can; and it cannot possibly go 
on much longer.” 

This consolation was meager —it was insufficient. Helen knew 


MR, SMITH. 


161 


Colonel Aytoun better, and knew that it could goon a very great 
deal longer. 

She was sick of it, of him, of staying in the house, and neither 
seeing nor hearing anything new, pleasant, and exciting. 

She said this to herself, and said it from the bottom of her 
heart, as the truth of truths it was. But the thought was hardly 
framed ere she called a halt. What was that? Some one com- 
ing through the plantation. Not Colonel AytounI Horrible, 
but quickly-dispelled fear. 

No, it was a wideawake, a gray wideawake, a gray figure — 
Mr. Smith. 

Mr. Smith coming through the much -abused plantation! He 
had ne%’er done such a thing before. And if she had gone with 
her sisters, she might just have missed him, and he would have 
come for nothing. Did she not know whose presence brought 
him to Freelands ? Of course she did. The liaving been kept 
at home, which had just before been bewailed as a misery, 
appeared now the greatest piece of good fortune. 

It was all astonishment and delight. It was an adventure; it 
might be a climax. 

Quick as thought she had stepped out, and stretched her hand 
to meet him. 

Such a day! A day for summer, for June, for any time, is 
it not?” cried she, hardly knowing what she said. “ Every one 
is out except me. I’m afraid. But you have met my sisters?” 

He had seen them, but thought they had not seen him. In 
truth, he had taken pains not to be seen. On approaching the 
house, he had heard voices, and caught sight of the two girls 
closing the gate. 

One he imagined for a moment to be Helen, but she turned 
her head, and it was Lily. He had quietly waited till the two 
figures disappeared in the avenue, and then, turaing the corner, 
had immediately come in sight of herself. Fortune had fav- 
ored him. 

Her father out, too; she alone — the house empty; his reception 
all tliat was warm and flattenng. Captain Wellwood’s insinua- 
tions were thrown to the four winds of heaven. 

Who could wonder if sitting in that sunny room, listening to 
the pleasant words, and looking at the bright smiles, he felt 
again something of the enchantment of his dream ? Sweet sor- 
ceress, who could wonder ? 

It was as easy now to prefer his request, as it would have 
been difficult at any other time. 

She granted the petition before it was half uttered ; answered 
the look; and rose with such an eagerness of assent that had he 
not read these signs aright, it might have filled him with pre- 
sumption. He told himself so. But he was wise and under- 
standing, and there was no danger. 

She softly opened the door, slid across the hall, and returned 
fully equipped before many minutes had elapsed. No one else 
stirred in the house. When she came noiselessly back, she was 
in itient to be off. 



ley set off through the plantation. Once out of sight of the 


16^3 


MB, SMITH. 


house, Helen talked fast and excitedly, and her step was more 
raj lid than she had any idea of. 

If Colonel Aytoun were anywhere about! If he should see 
them! If he should meet them! 

Well, let him. This was her chance, and make the most of it 
she would. 

She had been shut up, imprisoned, bored to death, for the last 
three weeks; and now that she had broken her tether, it seemed 
in the very breaking harder than before. 

She would have a day of it. She was with the man she liked, 
and she had got away from the man she «Usliked, and there was 
a sense of danger, and defiance, and triumph about the whole 
proceeding, which made the walking off with plain Mr. Smith 
quite a feat. 

Certainly a meeting with her enemy would be critical. But 
she meant not to meet him. She meant that while he pictured 
her dragging out her time in the routine of a stuffy sick-room, 
or, disbelieving that tale, condemned to be shut up in the house 
dull and moping, she should be taking her fill of the glorious 
sunshine, and the pleasant companionship which had so unex- 
pectedly come to her. She laughed at her tormentor. 

As soon as they left the short cut they were out of the way 
even of this chance danger. There was not the slightest fear of 
a meeting in Mr. Smith’s private grounds. 

The long path among the woods was admirably adapted for a 
lovers’ walk. Two could walk abreast, while more could not. 
Two could say what they liked to each other, and only the 
larches and the oaks whisper the secret. And though, perhaps, 
when the heights were climbed, and the little plateau gained, 
there might have been room for more than two in the pretty 
summer-house now resting there, yet surely if there did happen 
to be only that number in it, no two people could have been 
more happily placed. 

It seemed made for a tryst — for the site of a confidential con- 
versation. 

It was not, however, until the summer-house itself had been 
inspected all over, and admired from within and without, that 
the owner, turning to his fair companion, took her hand and led 
her to the seat, confessing that it was for a confidential conver- 
sation he had brought her there. 

Helen’s heart gave a great stound, and the color which rushed 
to her face could not escape his notice. 

They had been laughing and chatting gayly all the way; and 
so gayly, so easily, that even as she grew more confident of her 
power over him, and more certain of his recognition of it, she 
had lost her anticipation of any definite results of the day. 

Such an idea had crossed her mind at the first; but in the 
absence of anything to feed it, it had gradually been dispelled. 

She must bide her time. She was more and more sure of 
him, and more and more satisfied with him; and so well pleased 
was she with his words and his looks, and his whole bearing to- 
ward herself during the walk, that a few more such meetings 
would, she was assured, leave her nothing further to desire. 


MR, SMITH. 


163 


The summer-house, he owned it now, and with a most signifi- 
cant hesitation, was expressl}" hers. He should never have 
thought of it but for her suggestion. It was no longer a pleasure 
she had given him— it was now treated as one he had designed 
for her. 

And then, just as she had taken in the full meaning of the 
compliment, and had made a most spirited and suitable rejoinder, 
all in a moment he had drawn her inside, and confessed his pur- 
pose. 

A confidential conversation! Who has nerves not of catgut-— 
who has a heart which is not a mere pumping machine — who 
has curiosity not stone-blind, and can be in for a confidential 
conversation without a qualm ?_ And then, between a man and 
a woman! A man, too, who might be a lover, and a woman who 
wished him to become so! 

Helen might be pardoned if at that moment she thought it 
was all coming, and felt herself taken at unawares. 

The warm blood she could not curb, leapt, as we said, to her 
cheeks; and Mr. Smith saw it, and I am afraid he rather liked it. 
He sat down at a little distance. He felt an awkwardness 
about beginning. He turned his eyes aw^ay. The blush had 
made him feel young, and youth should be cautious. 

“ I may say what will explain my boldness,” said he. 

Then Miss Tolleton felt sure he meant to say something to the 
purpose. She was calming down. Her assent was almost 
steady. “ Oh yes.” 

“ But if I do, I must have a promise first.” 

“ What promise ?” 

“ That you will not be angry with me. No, I will not say 
that, but rather that if you are angry with me — if you think 
me interfering and impertinent, and feel disposed to bid me 
mind my own business — you will think of this, that I have but 
one motive, the regard, the — the — may I say it? — the affection I 
have for you and yours; indeed, it is a very deep and true one.” 

He had not meant to say so much. He was shocked at the 
sound of his own words. He was losing his head altogether, 
had not her cheerfull^^ unmoved rejoinder acted as a restorative. 

It w’as not quite what she had expected, and she was able to 
speak indifferently; but had it not been for the last clause of the 
sentence, her tone had not been so cheerful. “ I am quite sure 
that anything you say will be prompted by kindness and friend- 
ship; and as to your being impertinent, no one else would ever 
think of such a thing.” 

“ Would not you ?” 

“ Do you think I should ?” 

Smiling at him, testing him. Could he help being inclined to 
draw a little nearer, yet constrained to keep away ? 

No, he was sure she would not, and he should speak freely. 

“ It is,” he said, “ about Colonel Aytoun.” 

“ Colonel Aytoun!” 

“You may well be surprised. Colonel Aytoun’s affairs are 
not much to either of us apparently. We have only once spoken 
of him before, and on that occrfsion both of us, I think, owned 


164 


MR, SMITH, 


to merely a slight acquaintanceship with him. Your words^ 
dear Miss Tolleton, I remember perfectly. ‘ A very slight ac- 
quaintanceship.’ Was it not so?” 

“ Yes,” said she, faintly. 

“ And I, I think, did not claim much more. Yet I have known 
him, and intimately, for twenty years.’’ 

She uttered an involuntary exclamation. 

“ Yes, it is just twenty years since we first met.” He paused 
to consider whether he should now enter on the circumstances. 

“ And you have been friends ever since ?’’ 

“ Friends ? No.” He resolved he would tell her. “ It will be 
best for me to speak plainly. You will not wonder that it should 
be painful, but perhaps you may wonder when I say you are the 
first person to whom I have ever told the story of our meeting. 
Many know it, but not from me. To you I will myself explain 
briefly, for you will not misunderstand me. I would not expose 
Colonel Aytoun without a reason. I have a reason now.” 

Her cheek was not flushed at this— it was paling fast. She 
thought she knew the reason . 

“You know Mrs. Aytoun?” said he. 

“Yes; no — I have really never seen her.” 

“Indeed! But, of course, you told me so. She was ill when 
you were there. My story relates to her. She was to have been 
my wife.” 

“Your wife!” 

“Yes, indeed; my dear and honored wife. Her hand was 
promised me; her heart I thought already mine. Our wedding-day 
was close at hand, everything prepared, and but for the death of 
a relation she would have been my bride before ever she had seen 
Colonel Aytoun. But the day was put off for a month, and in 
that month all was changed. ' He knew all about it. I will not 
say, perhaps I ought not to say, that the knowledge acted as a 
stimulant, but it certainly was no check. He pursued her, 
openly and in secret — took what he could get before others, and 
the rest by stealth. The thing was done; and it was only when 
done that there were plenty to tell me this had been his aim from 
the beginning. He had been freely boasting of his intentions 
among his brother officers.” 

“And they helping him ?” 

“ No: 1 believe they never dreamt of his succeeding. He had 
been a laughing stock among them, and they were in hopes of 
seeing him baffled. In fact, they laid bets on either side, and 
made a joke of the affair; but they were ashamed of it after- 
ward. Some of them I can name among my best friends. They 
meant no harm— they had not calculated on his achieving such 
a triumph. He had wmrked for it with his whole soul.” 

“I believe it!” said Helen, passionately. “I believe every 
word of it! It is just like him! Just what he would do!” 

“ And this is Emmeline’s husband! Poor, poor Emmeline! 
The most to be pitied of women. The sweetest, the saddest, the 
loveliest ” 

“ Is she?” 

What a world of meaning m tint soft exclamation! 


Mr. bmiTh. 


165 


He stopped, confused and conscious* Her heart sank. 

“ I have always heard so of Mrs. Aytoun, and now I am sure 
of it. How I wish we could have known her? But I am inter- 
rupting you ?” 

'^‘No, no; you recalled me to myself. I was thinking of her 
as she was then, and when you see her now you will say I am 
dreaming. She is altogether altered.” 

“ Oh no, I am sure we shall not find her altered,” with return- 
ing animation. “ I have no doubt we shall think her all you 
describe. But what am I talking about ? VVe have no likelihood 
of seeing her at all. We do not know her, and we do not like 
her husband.” 

“ Do you not like him? Dear Miss Tolleton, that is the very 
thing I wished to be certain of. He is not a man to be liked; he 
is not a man to be trusted: he is not even to be known by a 
young woman, if she can avoid it.” 

“Indeed 1 believe it; I have heard so before, and I know it is 
true. Oh, Mr. Smith, I too have something to say about him. I 
do know him better than I choose to allow, but Ido not wish to 
know him — none of us do. We are resolved to drop his acquaint- 
ance if we possibly can. Are we not right?” 

“Indeed you are, if I may say so. It is the best thing you 
can do.” 

“ But you see he does not like it.” 

“Who would?” 

Both were smiling now, both were relieved, both happy. 

“ I do not wonder at him in the least,” said he. 

“I do wonder, however,” rejoined Helen, her indignation 
again kindled, “ that after he has been shown as plainly as we 
liave shown him that we wish to give him up, he should persist 
in forcing himself upon us.” 

“You can refuse to see him.” 

“We can — we do. But he annoys us continually: he will not 
take a refusal. It is absolute persecution.” 

He looked thoughtful. 

“ Your father should tell him plainly.” 

Helen looked, but could not well say that he did not care a 
rush for her father. 

“ You know what he is.” 

“ Yes; but still I cannot quite understand it. I suppose — you 
know I am to be impertinent— that he is rather a friend of yours 
than of the family in general ?” 

“ What makes you think so ?” 

“ My knowledge of Colonel Aytoun.” 

“ It is true that I am no friend of his. And he can be no true 
friend of mine to go on as he does.” 

“My dear young lady, he is no true friend of anybody, and 
certainly can'be no right one for you. I used a wrong expres- 
sion; what I meant was, that you were his attraction,” 

“ Yes,” said Helen ; “I believe I was.” 

“ And are still?” 

“ Yes.” 

“You are not displeased with my freedom?** 


166 


%m. sMim. 


“ No ; you never displease me.” 

‘ ‘ Then let me say this. Colonel Ay toun has had many women 
whom he has sought after. If I were to say the whole truth, I 
believe he cannot see a beautiful woman without seeking after 
her. But he is also the most fickle and capricious of human be- 
ings. As soon as the novelty has worn off, he has never been 
known to attach himself permanently to one. This is what I 
cannot understand in the present instance. To be candid and 
uncomplimentary, whatever he thought of you at first, he ought 
to be quite tired of you by this time.” 

Helen laughed. “ I wish he were.” 

“ So do I. You would soon cease to regret him. But you say 
he is not ?” 

“ No.” She laughed again, but a great idea was in her mind. 
It showed what Helen might have been; not, alas, what she 
was. 

“ I will tell him ; I will tell him all. He is so good, so kind, 
and so — yes, I am sure he is so very much in love, that now is 
my time. Then, Colonel Aytoun, 1 defy you.” 

And so, with hardly a thought of what she was going to do, 
she rushed into the subject. 

“You have told me a great deal that must have been very hard 
for you to tell; it would be a poor return if I were to conceal 
anything about this matter. The truth is then, Mr. Smith, I 
cannot be quite as decided as I should wish in forbidding Colonel 
Aytoun the house.” 

He looked attentive. 

“ Do you remember my telling you I had been a giddy girl?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you would not believe me; but you must now.” 

“ Surely if I must, it is no such great crime in one so young 
and so — well?” 

“ You must believe it, because it has given Colonel Aytoun a 
hold over me.” 

“ Then the hold is gone.” 

“Gone? Yes, in a way. But even when the hold is gone, 
there are broken ends remaining. Don’t you see?” 

“ I see,” lie said gravely. 

“ I will tell you the truth, and the whole truth; Mr. Smith; all 
I ask you to believe is, that it is the whole. Bad as my behavior 
was with Colonel Aytoun, there is nothing lying behind what I 
confess.” 

He breathed more freely. 

“ I was only seventeen when I stayed at the Abbey,” continued 
Miss Tolleton; “ and I thought Colonel Aytoun then all that was 
delightful. He took pains to be so— he did indeed. Mrs. Aytoun 
was ill, as I said, and there was nobody to interfere. My father 
never sees things. I know that people made remarks — it was 
natural they should. We w<?re never apart. In plain terms, we 
flirted together horribly. For myself, I can only say I never 
look back on that time without shame. Oh, you don't know 
how I hate myself whenever I think of it!” 


MR, SMITH. 167 

[ She had done it now, for better for worse. The truth was 
out. 

To say he was not startled, not shocked, would be untrue. 

Only seventeen! Was that a palliation or aggravation of the 
otfense ? 

Flirted horribly with a married man! People made remarks! 
Never apart! 

Her words seemed to have burnt themselves into his brain. 

He had called her a model of discretion. Had any one else 
asserted what he now heard from her own lips, he would have 
scorned the calumny. Had the same thing been said of any 
other girl among his acquaintance, he would mentalh" have 
contrasted her with the prudent, gracious, all-charming one be- 
side him. He could hardly credit it. He felt a stagger in his 
faith. His idol shook. 

It was another blow of the kind Philip had struck him the 
night before. That he had rallied from. It had passed, and 
left scarcely a mark; but this was a deeper one. He felt it 
through and through. 

All this Helen marked. True, her eyes were on the ground, 
and her head averted; but her woman’s instinct told her as cer- 
tainly as if he had spoken the words, that he was unprepared for 
this. 

She felt him pause; she felt his bewilderment, his stunned sur- 
prise. She wished she had let well alone. 

If she had only stopped short of the whole! All had been well, 
up to a certain point, and then it had miscarried. If she had 
owned to knowing Colonel Aytoun intimately, and then, 
on discovering more of his character, wishing to shake him off, 
it would have been sufficient. It would have been quite enough 
to account for his anger, without a word about the flirtation. 
So far he had understood, and approved. 

Now, by one false step she had ruined all. Why could she 
not have held her tongue ? What prompted her to be so un- 
necessarily candid ? She resolved that whatever came of it noth- 
ing should ever induce her to speak upon impulse again. 

Yet she had thought she could trust him. She had fancied — 
strange, foolish fancy!— that he was more noble than he proved 
to be. 

If she had fallen in his eyes, so had he in hers. 

All this passed in the two or three minutes’ silence which fol- 
lowed her confession. Each was occupied with thoughts of the 
other. 

“ We had better come now, perhaps,” said Miss Tolleton at 
last. Her voice was hard and cold, and she rose as she spoke. 
“ You have heard all I had to tell, and will understand it would 
not be pleasant for me to have it repeated.” 

He had risen involuntarily, as she did, and their eyes met. 

There was a forlorn look in hers which belied the measured 
■words, and in an instant all was changed. 

“I cannot go yet.” 

“Why not, Mr. Smith? We have nothing further to say to 
each other, I imagine. The subject has occi pied us long enough 


168 MR. SMITH. 

and for the future we will, if you please, drop it. I shall be 
wanted at home now.” 

“ You may have nothing more to say to me, but I, Miss Tolle- 
ton, ought to have something to say to you. Pray, pray do not 
turn away. Hear me, though I do not deserve it. I cannot ex- 
press my feelings on hearing you so nobly, so generously, avow 
an indiscretion which your present true, gentle, maidenly mod- 
esty only contradicts too flatly. If for a moment that very con- 
tradiction, being so extreme, made the revelation startling, it 
was but for a moment. Can you forgive that moment ? I ought 
not to have hesitated, but I hesitate no longer; my regard and 
esteem for you are higher than ever.” 

Her eyes fllled with tears. 

“ Dear lady,” he said, taking her hand, “ you told me this, 
taking me for a friend. Will you not forgive your friend !” 

“ I did not think ” she murmured. 

“No, how could you? You did not dream of so harsh, so un- 
just a judge. A counselor you wished, and found a father con- 
fessor, ready with penances and paternosters. That’s right; let 
me see you smile again. Now I know we are friends.” 

“ If you will be friends with me.” 

“ Hush I Not a word of that sort; you must not be hard upon 
me. Friends with you indeed!” She almost thought he would 
have kissed her hand, but he only held it, pressed it, and let it go. 

“That is settled then. And now one word more. I know 
this Aytoun well. He is a buUy and a coward. You have in 
reality nothing to fear from him. Let him say what he will, he 
is nowhere believed. His habit of boasting of civilities shown 
him is so universally known, that he can hardly find a person to 
credit him. Of you he may say what he likes. Nothing will so 
effectually give the he to any slur he may cast on Miss Tolleton 
as a knowledge of herself.” 

“ Shall we come now ?” said Helen. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE END OF THE WALK. 

On the way home conversation slid into easier topics. 

Mr. Smith’s manner was grave, but Helen felt that it lacked 
none of its former interest. She, too, was thoughtful. What 
had passed in the last hour had touched her in more ways than 
one, and she felt in no mood for gayety. 

If he had asked her at that time to be his wife, she would have 
vowed with all her heart that that heart should be his, his truly, 
and his only, till death did them part. 

But he did not ask her. 

Toward the entrance of the wood- path, and just behind abend 
in the hill which concealed it from passers-by, a shallow’ stream 
trickled across the way. In summer time it w’as dry, and even 
when full was easily crossed by means of stepping-stones. Dur- 
ing the frost it had been frozen over, and was scarcely distin- 
guishable from the path. 

Mr. Smith and his companion had crossed on their way up 


MR. SMITH. 


169 


without Doticing that they had done so; but ere they returned 
the sun had so far softened the ice as to leave some of the stones, 
wliich had been taken out of their places by the former floods, 
loose. 

On one of these Helen placed her foot. It overturned, and she 
fell her full length on the path. 

With an expression of concern, Mr. Smith attempted to raise 
her, but to his surprise and her own the attempt was followed 
by such pain as to make her cry out, and the color leave her 
face. 

“ Wait a minute, please,” she gasped; “ this will go off.” But 
attempting to say more, her voice failed, and her eyes closed 
with a look of suffering. 

He bade her lean on him, and tried again to raise her in his 
arms, but in vain. After the fall, she had, with the first invol- 
untary exertion, drawn herself up into a sitting posture, but this 
she was unable to change. 

It was evident that the hurt was severe, and she confessed to 
a fear of having sprained her ankle. 

“ It gives me such a twinge,” she said, “ if I make the slight- 
est effort to move it, that I am afraid it must be a sprain; but 
perhaps it may go off — in a few minutes — I hope; wait a min- 
ute ” 

“ There is no hurry — do not thing of moving,” said he, sooth- 
ingly. “By and by we can try again. Perhaps you would take 
my stick — or my arm,” hesitatingly. “ But do not move yet. 
Unless, indeed, the ground is so wet— do you think you can ?” 
for she was making another effort. 

He put his hand under her elbow, he put his arm round her 
waist, and she struggled to the bank; but there the eyes closed 
again, and a convulsive twitching of the lips made him kneel 
beside her, terrified. 

“Dear Miss Tolleton, what shall we do? You must have help. 
You must have a surgeon, and ” 

“ Oh no, no surgeon; it is really not worth while!” she cried, 
suppressing with difficulty exclamations of pain. “ I only feel a 
little sick and faint. Ah!” with relief, as her bat was gently 
taken off, and a wet handkerchief applied to the forehead— “I 
shall be better now.” 

Her head sank down upon his shoulder. She did not half 
know what she was saying, but she was perfectly conscious 
whom she was saying it to. Sick though she was, and faint, 
and bearing her pain as bravely as she could, she was racking 
her brains all the while to consider how best to extricate herself 
from what might prove an unpleasant dilemma. 

If possible she must walk home. The stick would be a help, 
but his arm she hardly could accept. How if she had to do it, 
however ? How if she could not walk at all ? 

Even so it proved. She could not walk by any possibility, 
with any assistance. Every fresh attempt brought on a fresh 
spasm, and at last the joint began to ache and throb even in re- 
pose. It was clear that there was no prospect of her being able to 
move, far less to walk any distance. 


170 


MR. SMiTIt. 


Matters began to look grave. Each grew conscious that the 
accident was more serious than it had seemed at first. 

Helen, uncomfortable in mind, and suffering in body, could 
think of nothing. He had to decide for her. 

“ There are only two things to be done. If I remain here with 
you, and trust to the chance of attracting the attention of 
passers-by in the short cut, we might be here all day. I am cer- 
tain you ought to have assistance at once. Yet how to leave 
you!” 

“ Leave me!” said she, faintly. 

“ Must I not? You must decide. But indeed, indeed, I fear 
it is the only thing to be done. I know this ought to be attend- 
ed to at once, and if I wait ” 

“Oh, not hereP^ 

He understood. 

“ No, at your own home. You are growing worse every 
moment. Can I go?” 

“ Yes, yes,” cried she, herself again; “ I see what you mean. 
I trust you. But, oh, Mr. Smith, you will not — you will go 

straight to my sisters ” She could not express what she 

meant, which was, “ You will not let any one else hear of it ?” 

“ Where shall you get help ?” she asked. 

“ I am going now to my owm house; it is nearer than yours, and 
there is nobody to be alarmed there. Besides, I have a small 
pony-carriage which is not too broad for the short cut, and if 
you are not able by that time to crawl so far, I can carry you.” 

“ Oh, I shall be able to walk. Thank you, thank you; it is a 
good plan, and we have no carriage to come if you did go home. 
Perhaps it will be able to go by the plantation.” 

“ Certainly. The path there is no narrower than this.” 

“ That will do then,” said Helen, wearily. “ I am giving you 

so much trouble, but you are too good — no one need ” Her 

broken sentence, her embarrassment, told him what was in her 
mind. 

“No one need ever know anything about it,” said he, in a 
low voice. 

And then he was gone. 

He was gone, hurrying along, out of sight the next moment, a 
tumult of thoughts whirling through his brain. 

No one need know. What ? 

No one must know, no one should know the extremity of his 
folly and delusion. But what was it that she desired to have 
concealed? Had she guessed it? Oh, mortification and shame 
if she had! That he should dare to love the fairest, loveliest 
woman in the land! That he should raise his arrogant eyes even 
to look at her! What wonder if she had scorned and laughed at 
such insanity ? All honor to her that she had only yearned to 
hide it. Noble, beautiful Helen! She had saved him this; what 
would he not do for her in return ? 

No one need know. He blessed her for the thought. 

It seemed hours to the poor watcher’s listening ears, before the 
light rumble of wheels on the path below told that her deliver 
ance was at hand. 

I ' ' 


MR, SMITH. 


171 


They stopped, and a minute after she had managed to rise, and 
was feebly trying to drag herself down toward the bank, when 
Mr. Smith appeared, springing up the ascent, with a hasty step. 

“ My dear, you must not walk alone;’' — he was going to be 
altogetlier paternal and easy in his treatment, he had resolved. 
“ No, no; I don’t care what you say. Put you hand on m}^ 
shoulder. So! Let me put my hand beneath your elbow, and we 
shall be there directly. You are feeling stronger? That’s right. 
The rest has done you good.” 

The pony-carriage came in sight. She half shrank back. 

“I did not bring my servants,” he went on. Brownie will 
stand quite quietly. Servants are always in the way when there 
is exertion to be made, and I was sure they would only fuss you. 
In fact, I told them nothing about it. When it gets abroad that 
Miss Tolleton has sprained her ankle, mind it sha’n’t be laid at 
my door. Neither of us must say a word about this fine road 
we were so proud of. Leave it to other folks to imagine for 
themselves where it took place.” 

“ They will think it was skating,” said she. 

Bv this time they had reached the carriage, and with a sense 
of unutterable relief, she found herself seated in it. 

Mr. Smith was about to get in likewise, when, with sudden 
recollection, he put his hand in his pocket. “You are going to 
have a glass of port.” 

“ Oh no. thank you.” She was sure she could not drink it; 
could not swallow it if she tried. A lump rose in her throat. 
His forethought, his consideration for her, was almost too much. 

He quietly poured it out, and to please him she tried. Yes, 
she must. He would not let her off till she did, and the wine 
was dmnk. 

“ You are too good to me,” she said, gratefully. “ Yes, thank 
you, I really do feel better. Perhai)s I shall not need the 
doctor, ■’ 

It was evident she did not want the doctor, but by no means 
so plain that she did not need him. 

Long before they reached home her spirits had faded again, 
and her courage failed; and when he had seen her safely deliv- 
ered into the care of her sisters, he had received their willing 
permission to go himself for Dr. Hunt. 

The doctor was at dinner, and came out to Mr. Smith smelling 
of beefsteak and onions. 

He pulled rather a wry face on receiving the message, and 
looked at the clock. The beefsteak had hardly been on the table 
five minutes, and he had just filled his own plate. 

If Mr. Smith would have come in and partaken thereof, and 
been civil to the doctor’s wife, and seated himself beside Maria, 
the interruption would have been palatable. 

But at that moment Mr. Smith could neither endure the 
thought of Maria nor of the beefsteak. 

He was full of one subject, he was not hungry, and he longed 
to be alone. The little, hot, noisy dining-parlor, with its rattle 
of knives and glasses, its inquisitive tongues and eyes, would be 
intolerable. 


m 


MR. miTB. 


He delivered the raessage, and escaped. Miss Tolleton had 
been walking out, had fallen on the ice, and sprained her ankle. 
He had offered to come for Dr. Hunt, as he should be in the vil- 
lage sooner than any one they could send on foot. He pointed 
to the pony-carriage, excused himself, and drove off in it. 

The doctor puckered up his mouth, and returned to the beef- 
steak. 

“ I do wish my dinner-hour were not always to be invaded,” 
said he. “Jane, tell William to have the horse round in a 
quarter of an hour.” 

His wife inquired who had sent for him. 

“ Miss Helen Tolleton has sprained her ankle.” 

“Poor dear girl!” cried she. (Helen had been quite the poor 
dear girl ever since the entertainment at the Hill.) “Poor 
thing! How came she to fall? Dear, dear! I must go and see 
her. I suppose it was at the meadows ?” 

The doctor supposed so too. The ice meant the meadows. He 
grunted assent, and took some more mustard. 

“I know I shall have an indigestion now,” said he. “Beef- 
steak is what I never can eat unless I have a good hour’s quiet 
after it; and this is not as tender as it might be.” 

“ Indeed it is, though, if you know where to cut it!” cried his 
wife, touchy on her housekeeping. “I asked Bullett himself 
how long it had been killed when I saw it hanging up, and he 
said it was Monday’s. Cut this side, that bit hanging loose. 
What you gave me was as tender as a chicken.” 

But the doctor would not change his slice, .nor alter his 
grumble. 

“ To have to start in a quarter of an hour after this!” 

“ Would half an hour not be time enough?” 

“ And have Mr. Smith down upon me ?” 

“ Mr. Smith!” 

“Ay, Mr. Smith. It was he who brought the message; and I 
must say, for a disinterested person, he seemed curiously ur- 
gent about it.” 

“Jane, you can put the potatoes down, and come when we 
ring.” 

Jane left the room amidst an ominous silence; but if she 
stamped round the table heavily enough when in it, she must 
have had a lighter step outside. She was never heard going 
along the passage. 

No one observed this, however. Mrs. Hunt’s voice rose in 
clear, calm tones. “ I do not understand what Mr. Smith had to 
do with it ?” 

“ Nor I, either.” 

“What did he say, Robert?” 

“ That Miss Tolleton had fallen on the ice and sprained her 
ankle.” 

“That’s not what I mean, my dear, as you know very well.” 

“ Perfectly. You need not be so cross about it; I know no 
more myself.” 

“The thing is, how came he to know about it? Why did he 


MB. SMITH. 


173 


bring the message ? Could they not have sent a servant ? that 
great bloated Corker ” 

“ Would have taken considerable longer time on the way. 
Mr. Smith was driving himself; I suppose tliat was it.” 

Mrs. Hunt's brow cleared. 

“ Very true ; it was to save time. But now, how did he come 
to know of it ?” 

“ He happened to be passing by; at least T gathered as much.” 

“ Then you knew all the timel” in an injured voice. “ It’s as 
clear as day, doctor. She had a bad fall; tlie poor thing couldn’t 
walk home, I daresay — and he offers to let you know. It was a 
piece of common humanity; quite what I should have expected 
from Mr. Smith. There is no mystery in the matter.” 

“ Who said there was?” 

“ Well really, my dear, you looked so put out, I thought, I’m 
sure I can’t tell what.” 

“ Poor Helen!” said Maria. “ How she will dislike being kept 
indoors in weather like this, and losing all her skating. She was 
not there yesterday, so I suppose she had gone early this morning 
to make up for it. How long will it be before she can skate 
again, papa — a week ?” 

“ A week ? There will be no more skating for her this winter, 
I can tell you. She may think herself lucky if she is out of the 
house at all before winter is over.” 

“Papa!” 

“Ay, papa! But she may. It’s all these miserable high- 
heeled boots that you will deform your feet with. The only 
wonder is that any of you escape.” 

“ You won’t allow us to wear them, papa.” 

“Not while lean help it; but someday wlien you have no- 
body but your husbands to look after you, you’ll be just like the 
rest of them.” 

Mrs. Hunt did not revive her suggestion about going to see 
Helen, and the doctor went alone. 

He was not quite so easy as slie had been about Mr. Smith. 
She had only heard the message, and had not heard it delivered. 

Mr. Smith’s version of the accident had been clarified and 
condensed by passing tlirough his hands. It had been a con- 
fused jumble when first given; perhaps even a little purposely 
confused; particulars it would not have been convenient to 
state. When well filtered the story made quite a creditable ap- 
pearance, as may have been seen from its effects on Mrs. Hunt; 
but Mr. Smith could not himself have gone through the pro- 
cess, without changing the face of the affair more than truth 
allowed. And of this Dr. Hunt had a glimmering suspicion. 

One thing, moreover, w’as impressed upon his mind more 
than all the rest, and that was that Mr. Smith had insisted on 
his speedy attendance far more strongly than he had considered 
at all necessary. Cases of this sort were not so urgent as all 
that. He would have gone within the hour comfortably. 

But he had found it impossible to say this; and beyond the 
disagreeableness of having to start with the beefsteak still in an 


174 


MR. SMITH. 


undigested condition, was the unwelcome reflection that he was 
doing so by Mr. Smith’s special request. 

By the time he had seen the sprain, however, he was partially 
mollified. Mr. Smith might be excused. Miss Tolleton was in 
great pain, and hei- sisters were anxiously looking out for him. 
He had not exaggerated, although lie had really meant to do so, 
when he had affirmed she might think herself fortunate if she 
were out before winter was gone. It was far worse than he had 
anticipated. 

He was sorry for her now— as sorry for her suffering, as he 
had shortly before been angry with it. The invasion of his din- 
ner-hour was a theme to rouse his indignation, but* it was an ab- 
stract ire, seldom extended to the perpetrator of the offense. In 
this he imitated his wife. He had learnt from her how to scold 
in the piece. 

As soon as the bandages had been applied, and directions 
given, curiosity must be satisfied. 

“How did all this happen?” he asked Carry, 

Carry professed her ignorance. She and her other sister had 
gone to the village. Helen had been walking alone, and said 
she had slipped on some ice. 

“ On the meadows, I suppose?” 

“ I don’t think it was on the meadows, was it. Lily?” Carry 
began to find her boasted powers of answering failing lier. 

“Oh no,” replied Lily, coming forw^ard at once; “it was not 
on the meadows at all. She was walking, not skating; just 
walking along the road, and her foot slipped on a loose stone.” 

“ Whereabouts ?” 

“ Really I don’t know.” 

She did not. The quick-witted Helen had foreseen all this, 
and guarded against it. “ Dr. Hunt will try to draw the story 
out of you, as soon as Mr. Smith has been to him, so you had 
better know nothing. Besides, I can’t tell you about it just now; 
you shall hear the whole afterward.” 

They had forborne to press her, and when it came to pass as 
she had prophesied, they felt her wisdom. 

“Not that I could not have tackled him,” said Lily; “ but after 
all it was the simplest way.” 

She therefore said : “I don’t know,” truly. 

Meantime Helen lay with closed eyes, exhausted, and still suf- 
fering, but capable all the time of telling her tale had she been 
disposed, vdth perfect distinctness. 

Dr. Hunt would fain have forced it out of her. He looked 
doubtfully toward the sofa, but the closed eyes checkmated 
him. He was obliged to let her alone. 

“ It really is not safe,” said he, in a solemn wffiisper. “ walking 
about alone on these slippery roads. If Mr. Smith had not hap- 
pened to be passing by, your sister might have been there for 
hours.” 

“ So she might,” said Carry. 

The doctor’s eyes gleamed intelligence. He thought he had 
learnt one fact. 

“ How did she manage to get into the carriage?” 


ME. SMITH. 


175 


“ I don’t know, really. She could not walk a single step when 
she came here, but slie said it was not so bad at first. Nelly!” 

“Oh, don’t disturb her!” said Lily, hastily. And the uoctor 
was reluctantly compelled to echo the exclamation. He had 
made her comparatively easy, and thought she might by this 
time have opened her eyes. 

But Helen knew better. 

However, he had, even as it was, gained considerable comfort. 
That disagreeable vision of Mr. Smith’s face giving the message 
was partially dispelled. He had been startled, and was not ac- 
customed to assisting ladies. He had done his best, driven her 
home, and come off for assistance. No man could, in common 
humanity, as his wife had said, have done otherwise. 

And as to his being so hurried and fluttered in his speech, it 
was quite natural that he should be that. Unmarried men were 
often put out of their way, when they were suddenly called upon 
in an emergency; they were unaccustomed to it; they were 
taken by surprise. Living alone was apt to make people nerv- 
ous. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

HELEN HAS MADE A FOOL OF YOU, TOO. 

Helen had now a sad time of it before her. At first indeed 
she began rajadly to amend; but weeks passed, and her progress 
did not keep pace with them. 

Her sisters wondered at her patience. Her father shook his 
head, and suggested that Dr. Hunt should prescribe a tonic. 

But Dr. Hunt, who saw the very word taken, as it were, out 
of his mouth, sneered at the idea. Miss Tolleton needed a tonic 
less than any patient he had; all she wanted in that way was 
change of air, and, emphatically, society. 

And then he went home and told his wife that any one who 
lived in the house with old Tolleton might well be sick for lack 
of other society. 

Mrs. Hunt suggested that his daughters, at any rate, had lived 
with him long enough without that result. 

“They have not been condemned to be in the same room all 
day long.” 

“ Neither are they now, I suppose.” 

“ The others aren’t — she is. He is always there when I call, 
at least.” 

Mrs. Hunt was a matter-of-fact person. “Depend upon it, it 
is not that, doctor.” 

“Well, of course it’s not that, if you come to pick it to pieces. 
The girl wants air and exercise, and she can’t have it. Besides, 
her nights have been bad, and she has gone through a good deal. 
Many a one would have been worse, but they have all good con- 
stitutions to fall back upon.” 

“I don’t know that it is that either,” said she mysteriously. 

“That what’s what?” 

“I’m not sure that it is altogether her illness that makes 
Helen so quiet.” 


176 


MR. S31ITH, 


“ So I said this minute, and you pooh-poohed tlie idea. What 
are you thinking of now ? What have you got into your head 
that makes you wag it m that knowing way ? It’s something 
sharp and spicy, or I'm mistaken.” 

“ Indeed, if you think so, we had better s.iy no more about it.” 

“ Heighty-tighty! You will punish yourself more than me, 
old lady. But come now, let us hear it.” 

“ Oh, no, it’s a pity you should ” 

“Don’t be a goose, Polly. You and I ought to know each 
other by tliis time, and not start at a word. There now, that’s 
a good lass, put pride in your pocket, and out with the worst.” 

“Well,” said she, mollified, “it’s only my own idea, so mind 
it goes no further, but I have an idea. I’ll not deny. You know 
that Colonel Aytoun who was at the Castle ?” 

“No. How should I?” 

“You know him by sight, that’s what I mean ?” 

“By sight? Yes, well enough. But he has nothing to do 
with the Tolletons. ” 

“I’m not so sure of that.” 

He began to lose patience. “ For heaven’s sake, don’t make 
yourself ridiculous, my dear! Say what you are sure of and be 
done with it. Has Colonel Aytoun been flirting with Helen? Is 
that what you mean ? All I can say is, that if he has, he would 
need to keep it dark at SaufIrenden, for my lady there wouldn’t 
like the notion.” 

“ There are two ladies there who wouldn’t like it.” 

“ Oh, ah, yes. his wife; but no one thinks of her, poor soul!” 

“ But about Helen. I’ll tell you how I came to find out any- 
thing. This afternoon I w^as sitting in the chair by the fire, and 
the room was rather dark; that drawing-room always is when 
the sun is off it, and we had been having a good long chat. 
Poor thing! I had been thinking of all I could say to amuse her. 
Well, as I say, the room was dark, and I suppose I was quite in 
the shade, for I could see Helen’s face well enough, and it was 
that which told the secret. All of a sudden the door burst open, 
and Lily came flying in. She never saw me, or I dare say she 
would have thought twice before she spoke, but she called out, 

‘ Oh Helen, Colonel Aytoun’s gone!’ at the top of her voice. I 
tell you, Eobert, Helen’s face was the color of that curtain! 
They both looked at me, and Lily could have bitten her tongue 
out, I could see. Helen answ^ered well enough; she always can, 
you know. But she couldn’t take me in. What girls they are, 
to be sure! How in the world could they have got hold of that 
man, and he at the Castle, where they can’t get a footing at any 
price ? ‘ Colonel Aytoun’s gone!’ That was what she said. 

•Oh Helen, Colonel Aytoun'sgone!’ And then Helen got as red 
as a turkey-cock; and if I never saw that other one taken aback 
in my life before, I did for once.” 

“ What did you do ?” 

“Just sat as still as a mouse. I wanted to see all I could 
see, and of course it was no business of mine. I never said a 
word.” 

“ Wbat did Helen sa^y ?” 


MR, SMITH. 177 

Something about being glad they liad a fine day for their 
journey. But such a look as she gave Lily!” 

“ Well, what then ?” 

“Then I asked if they knew the Colonel well. ‘ Oh no,’ says 
she; ‘ we only know them a little.’ It was ‘ them,’ you see, this 
time, though it was only ‘ him ’ that Lily thought about. ‘ It’s 
quite news to you they’re going?’ says I. She began to suspect 
me then, I fancy. ‘ Only news because they have been here such 
an unconscionable time that nobody thought they would ever go. 
It had grown to be quite a joke among us.’ This vvas her fine 
tale. Joke indeed! It was no joke that sent the blood to her 
white face like that, I could tell her. So theu slie went on, and 
she and Lily began to laugh, as if they were beginning to remem- 
ber they ought to be amused. ‘ So you really have picked up 
sometliing wonderful at last?’ says she. ‘ Well, Mrs. Hunt and 
I were just agreeing we never knew this place so dull.’ And so 
she w ent on, but I was up to her; she can’t put me off. I wonder 
what it meant!’’ 

“ If that is all you have to ground your story upon, Polly, I 
wouldn’t give a brass farthing for it.” 

“ All! Well, I should have thought it wasenough for anybody 
who could put two and two together. But you are just like the 
rest of them. Since this ankle business, Helen has made a fool 
of you too.” 

Here the doctor looked undeniably a little guilty. 

While the girls were going about, treating him saucily in their 
heyday, and doing their worst to mislead his daughters, he had 
joined the rest of the world in railing at them. 

But Helen in her bed and on her sofa was different. 

She was in pain, she was brave, and she was beautiful. She 
welcomed him with a smile, and bade him good-bye with a peti- 
tion that he would come again. He was her only break in the 
day. He took her books, yiictures, and all the news he could col- 
lect on his rounds. In truth he really was kind and agreeable, 
and her only resource. 

He began to like his visits in spite of old Tolleton, who would 
always come hovering over the invalid, asking foolish anxious 
questions. Dr. Hunt, instead of thinking the better of him for 
this little trait of honest fatherliness, felt an increase of dislike. 

If he could only have prescribed Mr. Tolleton’s banishment 
from the sick-room, he was convinced his patient would have 
improved. 

Even as it was, his visits to Freelands were frequent; more fre- 
quent perhaps than any one but himself thouglit at all neces- 
sary when there was nothing wrong but a sprained ankle. 

Mrs. Hunt, in consequence, had more than once found herself 
set right on points regarding the family in a way that did not 
suit her at all; and though her husband had in the present in- 
stance no thought of standing up for the absent accused, she 
took this to be the reason of his tlirowing discredit on her story. 

“ My dear,” said he at last, very meekly, “ you ought not to 
say things like that. What would the girls think if they heard 
you?” 


m 


Mk. SMITH. 


“ Why are you always taking their part, then ?” 

“ I never thought of taking their part. I believe they are quite 
equal to amusing themselves with Colonel Aytoun, if he chose 
to amuse himself with them. But I don’t think your evidence 
is strong enough to prove that they have — that’s all. What is a 
blush ? Helen has one of those f'kins that you can see the blood 
move through, if she only talks 'ast. I dare swear it was all in 
your fancy.” 

“ I suppose what Lily said wan all in my fancy, too?’’ 

“Well, no. But your fancy could change the way of saying 
it. If it was a joke, as they sail, she might very well come in 
full of it, glad of anything "to amuse the poor girl lying there all 
day long; and you might easiily mistake her meaning. You 
know Lily’s excited way. She makes mountains out of mole- 
hills.” 

Mrs. Hunt pursed up her mouth, and twirled some thread 
round a button she was sewing on, with the velocity of a hum- 
ming-top. 

“ If you choose to take it that way, of course you can; but I 
believe my own eyes and ears It is the way of those three, 
Helen at the head of them, to flirt with old and young; and you 
may depend on it, Colonel Aytoun was not too old for them, if 
Mr. Smith was not.” 

“Old? no,” said the doctor, hastily. “Colonel Aytoun’s not 
an old man; a year or two older than I. But what do you mean 
about Mr. Smith ? He’s Maria’s man. not Helen’s.” 

“Well, Maria’s man, now,” said Mrs. Hunt doubtfully; “if 
it’s all right, as I hope it is. But I must say it looks rather queer, 
his going off without a word to one of us.” 

“ Then what did you mean about him and Helen ? I thought 
you had given up that idea.” 

“ She was gocd-natured, I will say that. And they all behaved 
wonderfully well about it. Whether they ever tried it on vvith 
him or not, makes no difference. It was all the better in them 
if they did.” 

“ You think they did, then ?” 

“ I’m sure I shouldn’t like to say positively. I am never tks 
one to take up a report without good grounds for it; I always 
wish to be fair and just. Ever since Helen spoke to me about 
Mr. Smith and Maria, I have alwa^rs said I couldn’t say to a posi- 
tive certainty that she had had designs on him herself.” 

“ Did it ever strike j ou that he had designs on her?” 

“He! Mr. Smith! No indeed. What put that into your 
head ?” 

“Nothing at all. He went every day to ask how she was 
before he left, but of course he was bound to do that. I won- 
dered if he had ever thought of her — just at the first, you 
know.” 

And the doctor hummed a few careless notes, very much out 
of tune, and scanned his wife's face narrowly. 

Her answer was clear and forcible. “If he w'ore thinking of 
her, how could he be thinking of Maria ?” 

“Very true. Yes; I suppose he is thinking of Maria?*’ 


MB. SMITH. 


179 


^‘Well, we were both of one mind about that, my dear, till 
now. But I don’t know how it is, Ins going away looks a lit- 
tle odd; or else we are old-fashioned people, and don’t under- 
stand the way these things are done nowadays.” 

“If we are old-fashioned, so is Smith. What could take him 
off in that w ay ?” 

“ Did he not give you any sort of hint when he was coming 
back ?” 

“Not a word. It w^as Tuesday week, you know — no, it was 
Monday, for I w^as on my way to the meeting, and all he said 
was, that he was going from home, and might be away some 
time.” 

“ And you asked him in ?” 

“I asked him in. I told him you and the girls were at home, 
and that you would be quite angry if he w ent away without 
coming to say good-bye. But he thought I w^as in joke, and said 
he could not flatter himself that such w'ould be the case. How- 
ever, I w as to say he really had hoped to call, but business had 
prevented him.” 

“ But he had meant it ?” 

“So he said.” 

“ Well. I hope it’s all right. At any rate, not a word to Ma- 
ria. I think she misses him. I daresay she will be glad enough 
to welcome him back again. She sha’n’t have another new frock 
till he comes, any way. After all, one can never tell what may 
be at the bottom of things. He may think she would never 
look at him after such a short acquaintance, and mean to go on 
with it all the same, by and by. One ought not to lay too much 
stress on his going off for a month or two, after the roving life 
he has led. With that house there, he is safe to come back 
again some time or other. He is not like those flibbertigibbets 
of officers who carry on high-sky up to the very night before they 
start, and then, wdiew! off they are, and you hear no more of 
them! Mr. Smith’s safe enough, to my mind.” 

But then she had not seen Mr. Smith’s face; and Dr. Hunt felt 
that however much the return of their neighbor to his own house 
might be counted upon, his return to Maria was not so certain. 

It took all his fatherliness, looking at her as she entered a mo- 
ment after, to think that any one would prefer Maria to Helen 
Tolleton — any mere acquaintance, that is to say — any stranger, 
any man. 

Maria, when she came in, was not indeed a taking object. 
Her hair w’as rough; one side of her collar, by no means a clean 
one, had become loose; and her short dress displayed uncomely 
feet, badly shod and badly stockinged. 

Feet are a point on which fathers, brothers, husbands, are in- 
variably susceptible. Dr. Hunt remembered a pair he had seen 
that morning; a pair, not very small, indeed rather long and 
large, admirably shaped, and delicately clad in the trimmest 
stocking and tidiest slipper; and wondered if Mr. Smith was one 
to notice such things. 

Maria w^as a good girl, he was fond of her in his way; but 
neither he nor bis wife were exactly proud of their children. 


180 


MR. SMITH. 


Mrs, Hunt glanced at her daughter, but forbore to remark. 
Since Maria had had the good fortune to captivate a rich bache- 
lor, and she might hope some day to superintend her toilets, and 
see that she put on her fine clothes properly, she frequently let 
her present appearance pass without disparagement. Maria, 
she held, might be no beauty, but no one could say she was ill- 
looking; and if all her accouterments were correct, she would 
pass muster very well. 

Maria sat down and listlessly took up a book. 

“What have you been about all afternoon?” inquired her 
mother. 

“Nothing, mamma; there’s nothing to be done.” 

“ Nothing to be done! Well, I find plenty to do, at all events. 
I did not think any one in this house need complain of having 
nothing to do.” 

“I did not complain, mamma.” 

Maria turned to her book, and began turning over the pages. 

“You seem very much out of spirits,” said her mother, re- 
garding her for a moment, as she bit off her thread. “What’s 
the matter?” 

“ Nothing, mamma. I’m only dull.” The guileless Maria fell 
instantly into the trap. 

“Dull!” exclaimed Mrs. Hunt, delightedly; “I dare say you 
are! We’re all dull. Everybody away, and this nasty rainy 
weather set in. Poor Mr. Smith will have a bad time of it. I 
daresay he wishes himself safe back at home many a time.” 

“ Do you know, mamma, even the Pultons are gone.” 

“ Where are they gone ?” 

“Goodness, mamma, don’t look so fierce! I don’t know 
where. It was the Tolletons told me, and all they said was that 
they went off at the same time Mr. Smith did.” 

“ Gone after him. I’ll be bound!” 

Maria bridled. “ Do you really think they would?” 

“ I’m sure they would. Papa, do you hear that? The Pultons 
are gone off after Mr. Smith! Maria heard it from the Tolleton 
girls. Did you ever hear of such a thing in your life?” 

“They did not say that, you know, mamma; but I do think 
they meant it. Lily said she wondered if they had gone to- 
gether.” 

Dr. Hunt looked grave. Pormidable rival as Helen Tolleton 
might bfi. Miss Pulton, if rival at all, was more formidable still. 

“ Did they say anything else about it, Maria ?” 

“No, papa.” 

Dr. Hunt gave his wife a look which meant that in that case, 
they had better qot say anything else about it either. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE SICK-ROOM. 

Mr. Smith was trying the old, old lover's trick of running 
away from his love. It had come upon him suddenly with giant 
force. It had surprised him; stunned and overwhelmed IhiJi 
like an unforeseen calamitjn He saw nothing for it but to fly. 


MR. SMITH, 


181 


A second time to lOve and not be loved was bad enough; but, 
at least this time he could escape exposure and humiliation. At 
least he could bear his pain in silence, and in secret. 

With these feelings he quitted the Hill about a week after 
Miss Tolleton’s accident, assigning no definite period for his ab- 
sence, and thus occasioning endless conjecture, and some con- 
sternation in the neighborhood. 

Consternation prevailed at Fulton. The Admiral humphed, 
grunted, and confounded under his breath, while he looked at 
his sister, and took sweet counsel with himself, not daring to 
consult her. His rheumatism was insufferable; the Hall was 
clamp, they must go off somewdiere; and having hit on Mr. 
Smith’s trail, he did really and truly carry off the unsuspecting 
Cornelia, as Mrs. Hunt declared, in pursuit. 

Consternation, too, swelled in the bosoms of the Hunts; but 
there was another house where the blow was even less expected, 
and where it fell still heavier. 

The Hunts after a time could rally and discuss the business, as 
we have seen, with a certain dubious serenity; but at Freelands 
there was little to be said, and nothing to be done. 

Lily brought in the card, her face betokening disaster, and 
when Helen saw it she said not a word. 

They had been talking much of Mr. Smith. Helen washed to 
see him. She had been a week in her room, during w’hich time he 
had called every day, and she felt sure that each visit had been 
a disappointment. He had expected to see her. Perhaps he 
thought she vras even avoiding him. She must be w’heeled into 
the drawing-room next day. 

She now gave Lily her whole confidence. He was won; she 
felt convinced of it. His looks and words on that last meeting 
could bear but one interpretation, and she was now almost as 
impatient as her sisters to have everything settled. 

Colonel Aytoun w’as disposed of. He might do his worst, and 
it was nothing to her. She defied him, and burned to exult over 
him. 

The thought of the Hunts, too, was exhilarating. There was 
no broken heart in the case. They had all been of the same 
mind. The webs which had been spun to catch the great fiy 
who had buzzed into their circle, had been woven of one com- 
mon material. Indeed, Helen felt, and felt truly, that she had 
a far liigher regard for the man, as a man, than Maria Hunt was 
capable of. 

The idea of Maria! All of a sudden she felt a blaze of indig- 
nation that they should have dared to think of such a thing. 
They w^ere certainly not modest. It would do them all the good 
in the world to be taught their place. 

Then she took a mischievous amusement in picturing the 
lesson. 

She called up a vision of the blank faces, the unbelief, the 
futile wrath. She made speeches and put them into the mouths 
of Mrs. Hunt and herself. 

Mrs. Hunt was to accuse her of tricking them. She was to 
own that she had. It was not to be supposed that she wished to 


182 


3IR. SMITH. 


have the attentions of any man made public. Eastworld was 
such a place for gossip, and, of course, it would have been very 
disagreeable to be talked about. 

If Maria were mentioned, if she were blamed, as well she knew 
she might be, on that account, she had her answer ready. She 
knew it was nothing to Maria, and as it was a great deal to her, 
she had thought it fair to throw a little dust in their eyes. Mrs. 
Hunt must forgive her. Of course if there had been the slight- 
V est, the very slightest reason to suppose that Maria cared, she 
would never have gone on wdth it. It was only because she was 
so perfectly sure of Maria’s indifference that she had thought 
herself justified in saying as much as she had. Mrs. Hunt, of 
course, would not be able to allow that it had been anything to 
her daughter, and could not well show that it had been anything 
to herself or her husband. She would be silenced. 

Then there were the Fultons, and there were the Sauffren- 
dens. 

When she thought of the Sauffrendens she grew restless in her 
bed, longing for the time of triumph. She was better, she was 
well, she was quite fit to see her visitor. He was to be admitted. 
And at the end of the week she had actually obtained Dr. Hunt’s 
sanction for her removal to another room. If the library were 
turned into her temporary bedroom, there would be no obstacle 
to her being wheeled from it to the drawing-room, but he would 
not permit her to attempt walking. 

Lily joyously undertook to superintend the arrangement, and 
followed the doctor down-stairs, making faces at him behind his 
back. If he knew what he was giving his consent to! 

At the door she met Mr. Smith. He was in the act of leaving 
his card, and there w^as a P.P.C. on it. Lily invited him in, but 
he excused himself, as she fancied, rather hastily. A few min- 
utes explained the whole. He was busy, being about to leave 
home for a while, and had barely made time to come and in- 
quire after Miss Tolleton. He hoped to hear that her illness x'Cas 
an old story by the time he returned. 

Lily commanded her countenance, politely wished him a 
pleasant journey, and was glad to give a most favorable report 
of her sister. She had just received permission (with a glance 
at the doctor), to be in the drawing-room next day. 

There was a momentary hesitation, but no withdrawal of his 
words. He begged his kindest remembrance, and took the seat 
which Dr. Hunt offered him in his gig. The doctor, too, failed, 
when, in the language of Miss Taylor’s spider, he invited his fly 
to “ walk into the parlor.” The fly flew away from them all. 

Lily hoped she showed nothing. There was no one to tell her 
whether her face looked blank or not; she could only hope he had 
not been in the humor to observe. Nor had he; he did not even 
look at it. 

He had come there with his speech fitly prepared, but it took 
all his nerve, and all his composure, as steadily to deliver it. 

He had no eyes for the recipient of the message. What was it 
to her, or to any of them ? It was of no consequence to any one 
but himself. 


I 


MR, SMITH. 183 

■ So he said what he had prepared, and departed, and Lily re- 
turned to the sick-room. 

For some time after tlie blow fell, the sisters sat in silence, the 
one with her face turned to the wall, the other nervously turn- 
ing over the P.P.C. card in her hands. 

At last she spoke. “ Is there any hope, do you think?” 

“No.” 

After another pause. “ What can it be ?” 

“ I can’t tell.” 

“ Can it be anything about Colonel Aytoun?” 

“ I can’t tell.” 

“ Can he have been talking about you ?” 

“ I can’t tell.” 

“ Oh, Nelly, don’t speak in that way! It sounds as if — as if — 
it can’t be helped, you know. And after all, perhaps it may 
come right. If one could only find out what is wrong! If it is 

Colonel Aytoun but are you sure you cannot remember any- 

tliing ? Did you never give him any sort of rebuff ? You have a 
way sometimes of saying things that you don’t mean, and he 
might not understand it. If you could but see him I am sure it 
would come right again. Can we not send and ask him here to- 
night, or do something ?” 

Then her sister turned round, and spoke sternly. “No, Lily, 
I would not, for the world; I won’t have him asked. Let him 
come or go as he chooses. It’s all over, that’s plain.” 

Lily was silenced. She too felt in her heart that it was all 
over. Consolation would be a mockery. She looked at Helen 
and did not attempt it. 

After another uneasy silence she rose, saying, “ I had better 
tell papa and Carry!” and left the room, glad to get away. 

Helen made no effort to detain her. To be alone was a relief. 
There was no one in all the world, least of any her youngest 
sister, who could enter into her present feelings. 

She had opened her mind to Lily when all was bright and 
prosperous. She had spread herself out like a flower in the sun- 
shine; and now, like that fiower, when night fell, and the damp 
chill crept on, she folded her sorrow wuthin her owm breast. It 
was a real sorrow, and a real loss. 

She had missed not only the wealth and position, which, when 
she first contemplated accepting Mr. Smith, had been her bait; 
but over and above this there was something which, until now, 
she had not herself realized. 

She had lost a great chance in her life. 

She had lost an inlluence, the first for good her life had known. 
She had lost one w^ho trusted her, one who believed in her, one 
who, strangest of all, respected her. 

To be adored she was accustomed— to be simply respected was 
something new\ 

No one would believe that she loved him. She was by no means 
sure that she did herself. But she liked him to love her; and 
this one grain of comfort remained amidst the universal blight 
— love her he did. Of this she w as convinced. He might, he 
probably would, soon get over it; she w as not disposed to dream 




MR, SMITH. 


of any renewal of her influence, but it gave her a faint, faint 
sense of satisfaction to know she had once possessed it. 

Mingled with these reflections came the dispelling of all those 
gay and vainglorious visions so lately indulged in. 

There was to be no triumph, no happy modesty, no repressed 
elation for her. It would be all she could look for if she escaped 
the sneers of those who guessed her failure. Glad was she now 
that her flattering wliispers had deluded the Hunts. One thing 
was gained by the story of her accident having been suppressed. 
There were few, if there were any, who would suspect her. 

l\Ir. Smith and everything about him must henceforth be 
buried in oblivion, so far, at least, as that could be done, when 
he returned to live within two miles of Freelands. 

Her active brain working thus, she nevertheless lay still as a 
stone. Lily, returning half an hour after, tea-tray in hand, 
found her as she had left her, one arm stretched outside the bed- 
clothes, and her face turned to the wall. 

It was so strange in Helen that she felt involuntarily a wed. 

It seemed natural to speak softly, to tread on tiptoe, and to 
make as little noise as possible. Her manipulation of the tea- 
things, and the tones of her voice, although she only said, “I 
have brought you some tea, Nelly,” explained it all intelligibly. 
Helen, who ought to have been grateful, felt unreasonably irri- 
tated. 

Lily meant well, and truly desired to share her trouble, but it 
was only of the most trifling part of that trouble that she had 
the smallest conception. Her woe-begone aspect was at once 
provoking and ridiculous. 

“ For pity’s sake, Lily,” said her sister, petulantly, “don’t look 
as if you had heard of a death! It is no such great thing. The 
man has made a fool of me instead of letting me make a fool of 
him, that’s all. It is highly to his credit.” 

Lily felt instant relief. Now that Helen could talk in that 
mocking voice, and laugh in that bitter way, she was herself 
again. She was no longer to be feared; and having come down 
from her pedestal, they might at least have the comfort of won- 
dering, imagining, and condoling together. She took another 
cup of tea herself, and climbed upon the bed. 

“ Itis such a blessing,” she began, “ that nobody knows.” 

Helen sighed. Yes, it was. A poor sort of blessing, a small 
mercy, but still one to be thankful for. Had she known it, Mr. 
Smith was at that very time hugging the wretched substitute to 
his own bosom. 

“ No one knows,” pursued Lily, seeing that she was not re- 
pulsed, “and I don’t believe any one will ever so much as sus- 
pect it ” Here she suddenly broke off, showing in her face 

that something had struck her. 

Helen was alert in a moment. “Who are you thinking of ?” 

“ It was only Philip,” owned Lily, rather flustered. “ And I 
don’t believe he will, either. Tliere was never much to see.” 

“ He will not repeat it,” said Helen, quietly. 

“ But I daresay he never even noticed. He was not looking 
put, you know. I think he's safe.” 


MR. SMITH. 185 

Helen made no reply. She felt sure be had noticed; she could 
only trust to his honor. 

“And there’s no one else,” continued Lily, “ not a creature. 
Even the Hunts still think it's the lovely Maria! Fancy, Nelly” 
(laughing), “ if it should be!” 

Helen threw herself over on her side impatiently. 

“Oh, do take care! You know you were not to move that 
foot. You have hurt yourself now. Lie still and I will tell you 
what Dr. Hunt will say: ‘ My dear Maria has been ’” 

It was impossible for her sister to restrain a sharp exclama- 
tion. 

“ I do wish you would not be so very silly. What has Maria 
to do with it?” 

“ Only, you know, that if it isn’t you ” 

“It must be her. But I tell you it ivas me. It was no one 
else; it was me; and me only. If there had been no me in the 
world, it would never have been Maria!” 

The contempt with which she said “ Maria!” 

“ Poor Maria!” said Lily. “ She is not to be expected to think 
so little of herself, and tastes differ. It is a possibility.” 

“ It is not,” said Helen, wdth energy. “Not a whit more now 
than it ever was. You seem to think that because — because it is 
all over, there never was anything. But I tell you there was. 
It was as I said, more than I said, a great deal, up to the very 
end. Its having gone wrong now makes no difference. The 
very way he is behaving proves it.” 

“Why, then,” said Lily, brightening up, “it may all come 
right again. What if we are making much ado about nothing, 
after all? It is quite likely, I declare. What fun it would be 
if you got a letter from him when he was away ” 

“ Don’t be a fool!” interrupted her sister, angrily. “ As if there 
were the slightest chance of such a thing!” 

“ It may come to pass, all the same. Why, if it is as you say, 
and you are the best judge of that, what could have come in the 
way ? Something about Colonel Aytoun, no doubt. Well, that 
will blow over, and he will return to his allegiance. I believe he 
will — I do indeed. He is not the man to be put off for a trifle,” 

“ And that is what shows me it is no trifle. Besides, I told 
him myself about Colonel Aytoun, and that was tided over 
safely. No, there is something else. Perhaps he thinks I have 
been telling him only the half, like those creatures in the Bible 
who died for it. I wished I had, at tlie time, but I did not. I 
told him the worst, of course not in detail, but so that anybody 
could understand. How glad I am now that I did it!” 

“Why,” said Lily, dubiously, “I don’t see that you gained 
much.” 

“At least I lost nothing, and we know that it isn’t that. I am 
glad to know Colonel Aytoun has not had a hand in it, whoever 
has.” 

Helen did not ask to be wheeled into the drawing-room next 
day, and Dr. Hunt forgot to inquire if she had been there. 

Both were thinking of Mr. Smith. 


186 


MR. SMITH, 


CHAPTER XXVni. 

A VACUUM. 

Philip was the only person whom the sisters had thought 
COT lid suspect anything. They had never dreamt of Loj-d Sauf- 
frenden. Yet Sauffrenden knew more about the matteriihan any 
other human being. 

When even the Hunts had been baffled in their efforts to dis- 
cover the truth about the accident, he had chuckled a perfectly 
correct account of it into Philip’s ear, coupled with the most 
earnest injunctions to say nothing about it at the Castle, and 
above all, to keep the story from coming to the eais of that mar- 
plot Lorrimer. 

He had brought Sir George back with him from London, and 
Sir George had inquired after Miss Tolleton, soon after his 
arrival, with a smile, which, to the good-natured match-maker, 
betokened ill to the match. 

This was more than Sauffrenden was disposed to stand. It 
was hard enough on him not to be allowed to put his own finger 
in the pie, and preside over its internal arrangements; but to see 
another finger thrust forward stirring the wrong way, was what 
he could not stand by and see done. 

He watched Sir George’s movements like a cat. 

All went well; his vigilance began to slacken. Mr. Smith was 
daily at the Tolletons’ door; and wlio so unprepared, who so 
filled with astonishment and wrath, as the lord of the manor, 
when on a sudden the bubble burst? 

Mr. Smith was off, Miss Tolleton still in her bed. 

What had happened? How had it happened ? Had anything 
happened at all ? 

Alas! he had nobody to answer these questions, unless it were 
Dr. Hunt, whose authority was not always reliable. Milly 
would give him no help. To Sir George he durst not apply. 
Philip was useless. With a sigh he came to the conclusion that 
Dr. Hunt was his only chance. 

Well, he had a sort of tickling in his throat, and a disagreea- 
ble stuffiness in his nose, which he might as well see the doctor 
about. It was not worth while to send all that way for a busy 
man, but he might call in as he passed the house himself that af- 
ternoon. 

The symptoms disposed of, he soon found out all the doctor 
liad to tell. This was not much. His version of the accident 
was by no means so correct as that of which his visitor was al- 
ready in possession; but it was not for information on that head 
Sauffrenden came to seek. 

“ Very ungallant,” said he. laughing, “ in Mr. Smith to take 
himself off, and leave the lady in such a poor plight — eh, doc- 
tor?” 

“ Miss Tolleton is going on very well indeed,” said the doctor, 
gravely. 

“ No fear of that, in your hands. But he might have waited 
to see her down-stairs again, Such a true knight-errant as he 


MR, SMITH, 1.87 

had been, riding by just in time, and succoring the distressed 
damsel I” 

“ I don’t imagine that Miss Tolleton will complain of his be- 
havior in any way.” 

“What! Eh! Has she been cold to him? Has he received 
his conge? Is that what you mean?” 

“ I am really not aware to what your lordship refers.” Dr. 
Hunt almost frowned. Had his interrogator been any one else 
he would certainly have knit his brows; but, as it was, he merely 
checked such undue, indecent eagerness by a gravity as pro- 
found as he had ever summoned for a deathbed. 

Mr. Smith’s face, giving the message at his door, rose before 
him, nevertheless, with a disagreeable vividness. 

“ It is not so, then,” Lord Sauffrenden went on, f<^eling himself 
unaccountably thrown back. “There was a report, you know 
— but I daresay it never reached your ears — of his being a little 
touched in that quarter; and hearing of his running off in this 
way, I took it into my head to put the two together. It looked a 
little suspicious, you must own ?*’ Here he regarded his com- 
panion inquisitively, wistfully. 

Unkind man! There w’as not a shred of sympathy in his com- 
position. He saw, he knew as well as possible what was wanted, 
but not a word was to be wrung out of him. 

“People will say anything, you know, doctor, for a piece of 
gossip,” continued the great gossip of Eastworld. “But I own 
I should be glad to know that poor Smith was not bitten — that 
he had not been ill-used by anybody ?” 

Immovable was the doctor’s aspect, rebuke in every feature. 

Thus pointedly addressed he could not choose but reply, but 
his reply was short. 

“ I never heard a word to that effect. Lord Sauffrenden.” 

How small we feel when we have been showing a little bit of 
fussy interest in our neighbor’s concerns, and instead of meeting 
with any answering warmth, we are confronted by a chill si- 
lence, a withering stare, an impenetrable, misty, veiled face! It 
was almost too much for human perseverance when that face 
pertained to Dr. Hunt. But one more effort made the courageous 
besieger. 

“ Well, well, you ought to know; you are a friend of both. As 
for reports, I never care a fig for them. I know better than to 
think twice about a report. Most of them, liks this, are ficti- 
tious from beginning to end. 

At last the doctor roused himself; his time had come. Now, 
he considered, one good blow might be planted with effect. 

“Just so, my lord; a fiction from beginning to end. As you 
say, I am happy to reckon myself a friend of both parties, and 
with ample opportunities for judging, that is my ultimatum. 
That Mr. Smith was on excellent terms with the Tolleton fam- 
ily all the time he remained here, I know for a fact, and 
that he continued to be so up to the last, 1 had the proof of my 
own senses. I happened to be present during his last inter- 
view.” 


188 


MR. SMITH. 


Here was something at last; a reward for long suffering. 
Patientia et perseueranffa omnia vincunt. 

“ Well?” cried Lord Sauffrenden. “Well?” 

“ There was nothing to relate, my lord ” (mildly surprised.) 
“ Mr. Smith bade the ladies ‘ good-bye ’ in the ordinary way. I 
merely mention it to dispel any suspicion that he had, or ever 
had had, any such intentions as your lordship hinted at.” 

“Then it was all nonsense, of course. Glad to hear you say 
so. Now I must not keep you longer.” And having thus given 
in his hearty concuirence in the verdict, the disappointed inquis- 
itor took his leave. 

Once outside the door, however, his note changed. “ My good 
friend, you are — to use a mild expression — as blind as a hat. No 
intentions indeed! If he had no intentions after paying such 
attentions ” (he paused to gather up his indignation into proper 
terms), “he ought to have had them, that’s all I can say. It’s 
easy to talk of no intentions. I call it a scoundrelly thing to do. 
How would the doctor have liked his own daughter to be treated 
that way, though he could talk so coolly of the poor Ts ? I 
should like to have asked him to put that in his pipe and 
smoke it!” 

Then he sought Captain Well wood. 

“ What do you say, Phil ? Is he off, or has she refused him ?” 

“ I don’t think she has refused him.” 

“You think he’s off?” 

“Well, Ido.” 

“ What in the world is at the bottom of it ?” 

Philip was silent. 

“ Have you any idea ?” 

“Yes, I think it's Aytoun.” 

Sauffrenden’s eyes were opened. 

Colonel Aytoun had kept very quiet during the past week, and 
had never repeated his call at Freelands, but he had been work- 
ing out his plan of making friends with Sir George Lorrimer, and 
had at length attained his object in doing so. 

Sir George, easy and unsuspecting, had not hesitated in expos- 
ing Miss Tolleton’s tactics, and only that afternoon had put 
Colonel Aytoun in possession of them. 

The affair had rather amused him. He could never think of 
the passage of arms at Sauffrenden without an inner laugh. He 
had even goiie so far as to remember it two months afterward. 

But now the play had come to an end. It had collapsed rather 
flatly; and he related the circumstances with something of the 
shamefacedness of a narrator embarked upon an anecdote which 
he suddenly perceives is deficient in point. 

Not so did it appear to his auditor. 

For him the point was not only sharp, but poisoned. 

Mr. Smith and Helen! The conjunction had never once oc- 
curred to him. Mr. Smith and Helen! Horrible! On her ac- 
count and on his, equally unbearable. 

At that moment his new anger against her exceeded and 
almost eclipsed his oM anger against liim. The one was fresh, 
warm, and bubbling, the other stagnant. 


MR. SMITH. 


180 


Mr. Smith had dared to love Emmeline, and dared still to pity 
and regard her. He would not be duped beyond certain point. 
He was a popular man. He was high in favor vdtli those who 
shirked his. Colonel Aytoun’s, society, and try as he might, he 
could not do him a mischief. 

Consequently he hated him. 

But Helen was still worse. She had charmed him. She had 
had the enviable lot of attracting his notice. He had sought 
after her, thrown his net over her; and instead of being gladly 
caught, she had slid through the meshes, and laughed in his 
face! 

He was neither a magnet to attract, nor a chain to bind. He 
was no bar to the end she had in view. 

The man he had once supplanted he had no chance of supplant- 
ing again; and she might accomplish her desire, and he his, 
without let or hindrance. 

No one could say nay. He might be made happy even yet, 
with a wife siill more beautiful than Emmeline had been, and 
now, Emmeline was paled and faded. Youth, luster, enchant- 
ment, might all again be his, while only the old, battered, dusiy 
end of life remained for Egerton Aytoun. 

It was this which made him stamp his foot under the table, as 
his fingers clutched the wine-cup above. 

Sir George had pronounced the matter to have no further in- 
terest; it had come to nothing after all. But Sir George had 
nothing at stake. Colonel Aytoun could not so easily dispose of 
it. 

He was enraged with his own stupidity. What had he been 
about not to have discovered this which was so much to him, 
when it had been plain to a heedless by-stander? 

If the mischief was done, it was done now. There was no hope 
of putting a spoke in the wheel, had Fortune once begun to turn 
it. Despite all assurances, he felt a sinking presentiment that it 
M as too late. 

Mr. Smith away, Helen in bed, what could be done? There 
M as no possibility of getting at either of them. 

He might contort his lips, and force a grim sneer at the lady’s 
disappointment, but M^hat was that ? 

Sauffrenden was not to be borne any longer; and, disgusted 
with everything and everybody about it, he quitted the neigh- 
borhood next day, dragging with him his ill-fated wife. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

HELEN’S REFLECTIONS. 

The relief experienced by those left behind was great. There 
was no more bolting out of doors the instant meals were over; 
no stumbling over each other in the hurry of escape. No more 
M’hispered entreaties, “You take him to-day,” and conditional 
promises, “If you will to-morrow.” 

“ Saufifrenden once more yawned, and hovered, and lounged 
about the passages as he loved to do; and Philip was to be found, 


190 


MR. BMim. 


as of yore, hanging about the terrace and conservatory, instead 
of hiding in the coverts of his own room. 

The house was itself again. 

Sauffrenden, however, had his grief. He mourned for the 
Tolletons. 

He looked at his own camellias, his own forcing beds, and 
longed to send something to the sick-room. He worried Philip 
with constant and fidgety inquiries, and dared his wife by 
talking before her face of the accident and its serious results. 

Mrs. Aytoun’s account of Helen had certainly not been such 
as to change Lady Sauffrenden’s former opinion of her. Emme- 
line had grown confidential since the days when she attempted 
to picture the Abbey a happy home. She spoke openly, and, 
alas! truly. 

Her story needed not any coloring from the spite of a mali- 
cious husband, or the trampled-turning-again of a desperate 
wife; it was the plain, unvarnished statement of the girl’s mad 
folly. 

Every one about the Abbey could have told the same. Emme- 
line did not exaggerate when she affirmed that it had been the 
scandal of the neighborhood. Helen Tolleton was not a girl to 
be known. 

All this had been duly retailed into Sauffrenden’s ear, and it 
must be confessed that be found it very delightful. 

He loved to know the worst of people, but then, tenderly as he 
inclined his ear to the tale, it found him as tender, as merciful 
a judge. It was the very interest he took in his brother men, 
the very sympathy he felt in their concerns, which made him 
first yearn to know their failings, and then filled him with com- 
passion for them. There was this divine in the man’s nature, he 
did not love sin and he did love the sinner. 

It would have filled his eyes with tears had he been able to. 
look now into Helen’s sick -chamber. 

There she lies, forbidden to move, yet unable to be still. Toss- 
ing over and over, wearying and wounding herself, wondering 
that she gets no better. Night is worse than day to her. She 
has nothing then to divert her thoughts, and they fly about, and 
buzz hither and thither, and sting her whenever they can, like 
angry, frightened wasps. The more she tries to drive them away 
the more irritated and venomous they become. 

Why do they all turn against her so suddenly ? How is it that 
everything she has ever done seems all at once to be wrong? 
Do other girls vex and chafe over their lives as she does ? 

Tliere was that young Lance, and Buckley, and Gordon, and 
hosts of others besides poor Walter, who really cared for her 
more than half the rest put together — how she had gone on with 
them all! 

Some had her hair; some, flowers she had worn; some had 
gloves; one or two even letters. How foolish she had been to 
write those letters! Painfully clear rose some of the expressions 
in them before her now. Theirs she would burn: that precious 
packet which had often caused her a secret thrill of exultation; 
it too stood up and condemned her. 


Mil, SMITH, 


191 


y 


Tt was their fault, of course. They would fall in love with 
aer. and how was she to help that? She had only flirted a little 
in return, and with some it had answered, and with some it had 
not — exactly. 

They had made themselves, and her too, rather ridiculous. 

Ha! ha! ha! All of a sudden she would burst out laughing in 
the midst of her penitence. 

Visions of doleful visages saying farewell over faultless neck- 
ties and unimpeachable shirt-fronts rose before her. The push- 
ing forward, the hustling each other for her smiles. The gloomy 
sighs breatl)ed in the background; the jealous looks; the little 
mean insinuations; the open frown of the Colonel; the weak 
sneer of the subaltern. 

Of these were the sparkles in her cup of pleasure composed. 
And now, how good she had been going to be! She had in- 
tended to put away the whole cup, sparkles and all, and take 
another in her hand. 

She had made up her mind to astonish the world by marrying 
Mr. Smith, and to astonish it still more by making him a good 
wdfe. 

Her old life she had meant to have done w’ith. There were 
other kinds of pleasures to be enjoyed, and of them she would 
have had the full benefit. 

Mr. Smith’s character had given ample hope of this; and in 
return she would have been a model of graceful accommodation 
t o his wishes. 

He was a religious man, that was certain; therefore she had 
resolved to be, if not exactly religious, yet seriously inclined. A 
regular church-goer, and a teacherat Sunday-schools. (An ivory 
prayer-book and fan in summer, furs in winter.) He was so 
nice, so kind, and so pleasant withal, that it had seemed a per- 
fect Providence his being thrown in her way, and her having 
taken to him from the very first, as she had done. 

He was not at all the sort of man she would have expected 
herself to take to. It was the veriest epicureanism in coquetry 
^\vhich had set her on. Then she thought he might do. Then 
‘she began to like liim. 

She took credit to herself for the whole proceeding. She was 
sorry for the past; she wdshed to do better. She desired to be 
out of temptation — safe, happy, and respectable. This way she 
had carved out for herself, and a glow of approval within her 
pronounced it a good one. 

Oh, why was she not to tread the way? It was too hard, too 
discouraging, to be thus stopped short upon the threshold. It 
was enough to make her turn her back on goodness altogether, 
to have it making itself so very disagreeable. 

Her sisters thought her changed and she was proud of it. 
She had baffled Colonel Aytoun by her honesty, and disarmed 
Mrs. Hunt by her prudence. She w^as certainly turning over a 
new leaf. 

But these consolatory reflections had all their dark side. 

Where was the use now of her good resolutions? Where wail 

A’**'' ' ■ 


192 


Mn. smitM. 


the use of trying to enter in at the strait gate when It clan<yed 
in her face ? It was the cruelest, sillies"' stoppage that ever was. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

COLONEL AYTOUN’S DINNER-PARTY. 

Weeks now slipped by almost unmarked in the neighborhood 
of Eastworld. 

Mr. Smith’s disappearance and Helen Tolleton’s sprained ankle 
had ceased to be two nine days’ wonders. 

The Sauffrendens were talking of their Easter party; Captain 
Wellwood growing daily more interested in the spring meetings; 
Dr. Hunt reaping a small harvest of relaxed throats; and Mr. 
Rodney doing" all he could to induce people to keep Lent. 

There was certainly little going on to lead the flock astray. 

“ We must have Rosy down at Easter,” said Lady Sauff rend en 
to her husband, “as the Aytouns stopped her coming at Christ- 
mas. Shall you see her to-morrow?” 

“I can, easily; I shall go there to luncheon. Phil wants to 
see his old chum Holker, so he can go to him.” 

“ Is Philip going up with you?” 

“Yes. He was going the end of the week, but I got him to 
make it to-morrow, not to let me go alone.” 

He never liked to go anywhere alone. If he had not Milly, he 
must have somebody. Milly, not being strong, avoided the 
London days, and therefore he was constantly on the strain in- 
venting reasons for inveigling other people thither. 

With Captain Wellwood he succeeded best, with the curate 
worst. Mr. Rodnej" could not be brought to see that a clergy- 
man was conferring a positive benefit on his parish by becoming 
a member of the University Club. 

Now It curiously happened that one of the flrst people whom 
the two friends encountered as they left Paddington Station was 
Colonel Aytoun. 

The Colonel had on his best smile, and instead of responding 
to their cool and hasty, “ How are you’s?” by one of the same 
nature, he stopped, and held out his hand. 

“You are the best people in the world to come across, you two. 
I have just seen your neighbor Smith, come back from his travels, 
and engaged him to dine with me to-night. Come and meet 
him. Lorrimer will be with us too. Smith is at their house.” 

“ Of course we will; very glad to come. No engagement, eh, 
Philip? What’s your hour? Eight?” 

“ Confound me! I could have bitten my tongue out for every 
word It spoke!” cried he, afterward. “ Why did you not stop 
me, 3mu old good-for-nothing? I looked to you, and you wouldn’t 
say a word to help me out. There’s an end of our snug evening. 
How could you let me, Phil ?” 

“ My dear fellow, how could I not? What could I say ? You 
had your acceptance cut and dried while the invitation was 
hardly in being,” said Philip, sulkily. 

“ My acceptance! What is my acceptance? You know well 
enough I never can refuse. I had to make it the heartier he» 


MR. SMITH. 


193 


cause I was racking my brain all the time to try and remember 
some excuse. You might have seen that.” 

“ I saw it plainly enough.” 

“ Well, why did you not help me, then ?” 

“Simply because I couldn’t.” 

“To meet Smith too!” said Sauffrenden, fuming. “As if I 
cared to meet Smith! I never wish to see him again. I consider 
that he has used that poor girl exceedingly ill, and she lying 
there on her sofa, all this time!” 

“ You don’t suppose she is pining foi him?” said Philip, sar- 
castically. 

“That’s not his business. She might be, for all he cares. I 

wish that Aytoun was at and Lorrimer too I What can 

make Long George go to him?” 

“ Perhaps, like us, because he could not get off.” 

“ Such a party as we shall be !” 

“ Humph!” 

“I shall be very cold to Smith, I can tell you! I have no idea 
of a fellow playing tricks of that sort. At his age he ought to 
know better.” 

“ Do you want this hansom?” 

“Weil, yes — we had better. That vile dinner has spoilt our 
whole day!” 

Colonel Aytoun might have heard every word they said with- 
out being much enlightened by it. 

He knew as well as possible wliat to make of Lord Sauffren- 
den’s abundant acceptance, and Captain Wellwood’s gloomy 
face. It was not for their pleasure bis hospitality was proffered. 
He had his own ends in view, and to further them this chance 
meeting appeared the greatest piece of luck in the world. 

Mr. Smith had only returned to England a few days before, 
but Colonel Aytoun had been on the look-out for him. His pro- 
fessions of esteem were louder than ever. He would take no 
refusal. “ Mrs. Aytoun,” he grinned, “ would be quite indignant 
with him if he went back to the Abbey, and told her that their 
old friend would not come near them.” 

Not to offend him. they had to accept. Sir George did not 
care. To him Colonel Aytoun had never shown his cloven hoof, 
and he thought other people painted him blacker than he was. 
He agreed to go with indifference. 

The object of the meeting was a simple one. It was to afford 
Aytoun an opportunity for putting an effectual bar between Mr. 
Smith and Helen. Sir George Lorrimer’s presence was indispen- 
sable, for Sir George, when appealed to, would be unable to 
deny what was to be alleged— nay, he would be forced to yield 
his testimony to the truth of the statements. But the addition 
of Lord Sauffrenden and Philip Well wood to the party was be- 
yond what could have been hoped for. 

He almost shook with satisfaction. He trembled lest the de- 
licious cup should by any chance slip through his fingers. He 
counted the half-hours of the day. 

“One of papa’s friends indeed, Miss Helen! I wish you 


194 MB, SMITH, 

may not repent having one of papa’s friends for one of your 
enemies!” 

Of all her taunts, this had rankled in his bosom deepest. 

Thus it was that our dear, good, humble-minded friend, who 
fancied himself the solitary keeper of liis secret, and was doing 
his best to crush it out of his heart and hide it out of his sight, 
was all at once in the company of three other men, each of 
whom knew something of the same, and not one of whom knew 
the truth. 

The dinner passed off as well as could have been expected. 
The host, although he scolded and scowled at the attendants, 
smoothed his brow and oiled his tongue, ere he addressed any of 
his guests. 

The early delicacies of the season were set before them, and 
had it not been for the company of their entertainer, the other 
four might have enjoyed themselves very comfortably. 

Lord Sauffrenden indeed did his best to show disapprobation 
as he shook hands with Mr. Smith, and even walked round to 
the other side of the table to avoid sitting next him. But then 
Sauffrenden’s disapprobation was always so mild that it might 
well be doubted if it was observable to any one but himself. 
Captain Well wood certainly did not second him. 

He had never been hearty in his reprobation of the culprit, and 
an imaginative person might have conjectured that he was al- 
most too well inclined to be lenient. He warmly welcomed his 
neighbor home to Old England again, and hoped they should 
soon have him back at the Hill. Sauffrenden frowned at such 
mistimed, superfluous cordiality. 

It was not till the wine had circulated twice that Colonel 
Aytoun thought his time had come. 

They were none of them drinkers; temperance was one of his 
few virtues, therefore they would not sit long. Sooner, how- 
ever, it would not have been wise to begin. 

His cheek slightly flushed when the pause came for which he 
had been waiting, but no one would have suspec-ted the effort 
with which that jaunty tone began. 

“ By the way. Smith,” said he, “ you left a sad reputation be- 
hind you among the good folks down at your place, when I was 
there at Christmas. Whew! They were all up in arms. A 
hornet’s nest. Really, you know, it is time for you and me to be 
giving up these little amusements. It’s all very well when one 
is young, but you gay bachelors never know when to stop.” 

‘‘ He’s going to catch it now,” thought Sauffrenden, deeply in- 
terested. “ Serves him right! I’m glad I came!” 

Mr. Smith inquired what the reputation was that he had left. 
His thoughts reverted to Miss Fulton, hints about the Admiral 
having already reached his ear. He was annoyed, but not dis- 
composed. He did the lady justice, she had never thought of 
him. 

“ You disclaim it, eh?” continued the Colonel, jocosely as be- 
fore. “ But that’s of course. There she is, you know, drooping 
away; never left her room since you deserted her, and only 
whispering to her very, very intimate friends bow shamefully 


MR. SMITH. 


195 


she has been treated; and now she feels she can never have 
the heart to leave her chamber again; never go out to see that 
beautiful plat^e, that fine house that she had set her soul on 
being the mistress of!’’ 

“You are still talking in enigmas, Colonel. The only lady 
who has been confined to the house since I left— at least, so 
I was sorry to hear from Sir George — is Miss Tolleton. Her 
sprained ankle has been a more serious affair than any one 
would have dreamt of.” 

“ He’s in for it now!” chuckled Sauffrenden, again. “ I’m glad 
I came!” 

“ So it is a sprained ankle!” replied Aytoun, fitting his eye- 
brows. “Ah! Never heard it called by that name before.” 

“ I hope,” said Mr. Smith to Philip, *“ that it is well by this 
time ?” 

“Oh, yes. That’s to say, she can’t get off the sofa yet, the 
doctor says. Great stuff, you know.” 

“ The whole thing, of course,” said Colonel Aytoun, “ we know 
better, don’t we. Smith ? What’s a sprained ankle to the loss of 
ten thousand a year ?” 

“Coarse brute!” thought Sauffrenden, disgusted. “I’m sorry 
I came.” • 

“ Miss Tolleton,” said Mr. Smith, trying to speak unremark- 
ably, “ is so far above such insinuations, that Colonel Aytoun 
can be only in jest, but it is safest not 1o jest with a lady’s 
name.” 

“ In jest! Never was more serious in my fife!” cried he, with 
an air of protesting. “It’s the talk of the neighborhood: and 
some say, though of course that we don’t give in too, that a cer- 
tain goo"l friend of ours did not behave exactly as he ought on 
the occasion.” 

“ The talk of the neighborhood, Colonel Aytoun, is very often 
merely the talk of the person recounting it.” 

“ Well hit!” murmured Sauffrenden. “ Glad I ” 

“ Well, if you won’t believe me, ask any one here. I heard it 
all when I was down there, and I am much mistaken if some of 
the present company could not tell us more of the matter if they 
chose. She swears she will have you yet, when her courage is 
high; and falls to tears and despair, and all the cruel treatment 
story, when her spirits fail. By Jove, man! why won’t you 
have her? There she is, wooed and won! A ripe pear ready to 
fall into your mouth. Open it, and be thankful! It will shut 
hers, at least. She might rate at you, like the rest of them, 
every hour of the day, for some misdemeanor or other, but at all 
events she couldn’t accuse you of the unpardonable sin, the 
capital crime, of being insensible to her charms. And in truth, 
my friend, when I come to tliink of it, perhaps you did give her 
some cause to complain. Perhaps you were rather often found 
at her front door. Eh? Wasn't it so? Ha! ha! Sly! sly! Too 
bad! And it wasn’t the first time, more’s the pity. Poor girl! she 
has had her disappointment before. That makes it all the 

harder to be borne. Well, I Beg your pardon ?” to Sir George 

Lorrimer, 


196 


MR, SMITH. 


“I did not speak,” said Sir George gravely. He had uttered 
an inarticulate expression of disgust. 

“ You think her to blame, perhaps ? Ob, we should be lenient 
on a sweet creature like that. Perhaps she was a little indis- 
creet, a little too lavish of her attractions in old days, but that’s 
all past and forgotten. No one remembers anything of that 
now. Smith. Don’t you be afraid; don’t be put off for a trifle. 
We know how to keep old stories quiet at the Abbey, don’t 
we?” 

The double meaning, the smile of old, old malignity and tri- 
umph, thoroughly were they understood by one present. 

Nobody interrupted, nobody crossed his foul path; on he 
went. 

“It is all very well, you know, a little mild flirtation, if it 
can’t be misinterpreted; but you gay Lotharios, you marketable 
articles, should remember that there is more expected from you. 
You should be on your guard. No giving rise to false hopes; 
no, no.” 

Colonel Aytoun was no nice observer. He thought that on his 
victim’s stony face he read the stupor of despair. He had had 
his swing. He had said nearly all he had to say. What now 
remained for him was a simple business enough; *he had his 
witnesses ready, in case the prosecution were resisted. 

With one accord they all held their tongues. 

Sauffrenden was by turns glad he had come and sorry he had 
come, but the grossness of thought and language in which the 
charge was made, at length weighed the scales too heavily down 
on one side for them ever to rise again. He was shocked to the 
last degree. He stared into Aytoun’s inflamed eyes as if he w’ere 
a wild beast come for him to see. He turned to Mr. Smith and 
saw with a throb of delight that he was about to speak. 

“And by Georgel” he murmured to himself, “he looks dan- 
gerous.” 

Mr. Smith began. “This has been a very entertaining rodo- 
montade, Colonel Aytoun. The brilliancy of your fancy — hoJd 
your tongue, sir!” suddenly roared he, springing to his feet. 
“ Do you dare to insinuate that you have mingled any earnest 
with your — your most amusing jest?” 

“ On the contrary, my friend, I have not mingled one atom of 
jest with my earnest. It is all earnest — sober earnest ” 

“You — infernal — liar!” said Mr. Smith slowly. 

“ Oh fie! What would the fair Helen think if she heard that! 
From such a respectable, religious ” 

“Religious! You polluting ” 

“No more names, please. We make allowance for a little 
blowing off the steam at first. But a friendly hint like this— if 
you don’t believe me, aak these gentlemen.” 

How he blessed his luck which had sent them in his way! 

With an evident effort the other mastered himself. 

“Am I to understand,” he said in a suppressed voice, “ that 
there is any one here who has concurred in the— the sentiments, 
the slanders which have just been forced upon us?” ^ 


MR, SMITH, 197 

An uneasy silence— downcast eyes. He looked from one to tlie 
other. 

“Tell him, Lorrimer,’’ said Aytoun blandly, “what you 
thought on that happy occasion when you took luncheon with 
the lady.” 

“ I think now, sir,” replied Sir George warmly, “ that you are 
grossly misinterpreting and exaggerating anything I may have 
said to you on the subject.” 

“ Without the least intention, then, I assure you. But you are 
here to speak for yourself. Will you kindly tell our somewhat 
hasty fiiend your own opinion? I think, on the whole, it is not 
unlike mine in substance.” 

Sir George was now looked at by all; and the afternoon at 
Sauffrenden rose distinctly before the minds ol two, at least, 
present. 

“ I will own,” he said, hesitatingly, that I thought Miss Tolle- 
ton not disinclined to my friend; nor, to be plain, did I think him 
altogether disinclined to her.” 

“ You thought she wanted to catch him ?” 

“I never think such things, sir,” said Sir George, haughtily. 

“Not in those words, perhaps,” rejoined Colonel Aytoun, 
slightly taken aback; “ but it amounts to the same.” 

Sir George set his lips, and his friend's face changed. “ If you 
wish for further confirmation,” continued Aytoun, triumphant- 
ly, “ here are Lord Sauffrenden and Captain Wellwood.’’ 

“ I — I have nothing to say, sir,” interpos<jd Sauffrenden, hasti- 
ly. “I have the — the highest regard for Miss Tolleton.” 

“Another?” said Colonel Aytoun, with mild surpise. “She 
is a most successful young lady, certainly. I had no idea Helen 
numbered Lord Sauffrenden among her admirers.” 

“She will number me among her defendei-s, Colonel Aytoun, 
and that is sufficient.” 

“ Ah! it’s a pity your wife won’t call on her then.” 

“ There is a — a misunderstanding ” 

“Exactly; so there is with mine. Little Nelly and I were 
great friends at the Abbey, but I could never bring Mrs. Aytoun 
to speak to her.” 

“Colonel Aytoun is acting the part of a friend, is he not?” 
said a new voice. Philip could keep silence no longer. 

“ You too have been honored in that way in your da}^ I have 
no doubt.” Aytoun turned, quick as thought, upon him. 
“ Most of us have had our day. It is Smith’s day now.” 

“ Colonel Aytoun ” (none of them called him Aytoun) “you 
speak like the scoundrel you are ” 

“ No, no. Smith, I really cannot ” 

“Do you dare to interrupt me, sir? You shall hear me. I 
know you well. I know what all this means. As if anything 
you say were worth a moment’s consideration! As if you could 
blacken a reputation such as hers with any falsehood you 

“Falsehood? Ask your friends here. The license I have 
granted on account of your being a little put out, sir, must not 
be abused any more. 1 can’t have falsehoods spoken about— at 
any rate, unless you can prove them. ” 


198 


MR. SMITH. 


“ I can prove them.” 

“ How ?” A moment’s embarrassment. Colonel Aytoan pur- 
sued his advantage. 

“ You are in too great a hurry. Now, to humor you, as you 
can’t prove it a falsehood, allow me to prove it truth. Appeal 
to these gentlemen. Ask every one of them if you will, whether 
or not they believe that she wants to be your wufe.” 

“Do you believe this. Lord Sauffrenden ?” said Mr. Smith, 
firmly. 

Poor, compassionate, tender-hearted Sauffrenden! 

“ I did — did think once, — something — of the kind,” stammered 
he; “ but indeed ” 

“Thank you; that is all I need to know. You, Lorrimer? 
Captain Well wood ?” 

Sir George bowed, and Philip mutely followed his example. 

“Then, gentlemen” — they all looked at him, his face was 
white, his voice trembled — “ I must beg your attention to a few 
words on my part. I will be short. Nothing but what has oc- 
curred before you all could justify me in the course I am about 
to take. To Colonel Aytoun I do not address myself; from 
henceforth he and I are strangers. When you know all, you will 
understand. I love this lady. I love her with my whole heart 
— ay, with the same heart I gave to Emmeline just twenty years 
ago. He,” pointing with his finger, “ robbed me of the one, and 
now he would fain rob me of the other.” 

(“Good heavens!” ejaculated Sauffrenden, under his breath, 
“what nuts for Millyl”) 

“But he is mistaken; this is not to be his delightful office. 
This tissue of malignity falls harmless; she does not care for me 
as it is. No, I know what you would say. Colonel Aytoun — it is 
not me but mine. Well, you shall see how that is; she shall have 
me and mine both, if she will!” 

Colonel Aytoun started and changed color. 

“ Yes,” continued his opponent, letting down his voice again. 
“ But that ‘ if she will!’ Gentlemen, I do not disguise from you 
tliat in this hypothesis I have no hope. You are incredulous?” 
He paused. “Is there no one to do her justice?” Another 
pause. “ She shall have it done, nevertheless. To-morrow even- 
ing will see her in possession of all that Colonel Aytoun affirms 
she desires, if she will deign to take them. Too well I know 
what that means. To-morrow evening will rather see me a de- 
spised, detested, cast-off, lonely old man.” Again the voice 
trembled, but it still went on. 

“One thing more. You hear this from my lips. It is no se- 
cret, and not to be kept as one; it is to be told, if ever this slan- 
derous tale should he repeated in your presence. I call on you 
to bear witness to my words. She may have me if she will.’’ 

“Give me your hand, sir!” shouted Sauffrenden, restraining 
himself no longer, but rushing round the table, and all hut 
clasping the speaker in his arms. “ By — by— I must swear or I 
shall burst — by George! then, you are the noblest, and the best, 
and — and — I say I can’t stand it! I never heard anything like 
this! If she doesn’t take you after it, she is a fool and an idiot, 

,V// - 


MR. SMITH. 


199 


were she ten times the handsomest girl in the county! And— 
and — I shall be proud of being your friend, sir, if you’ll allow 
me — for I’m sure I don’t deserve it— to the latest day of my 
life!” 

You may Avell be proud of it, Sauffrenden,” said Sir George 
Lorrimer, smiling, and stretching his hand across the table like- 
wise; “ I have been, this many a day. Ah, you didn’t know 
what he was! Now we must not make too much of him, I 
hope there is a happier ending in store than he anticipates.” 

“You too?” said Mr. Smith, looking up at him, Et tu. 
Brute r 

“No, no,” said bis friend, hastily, “not that. I am con- 
verted, believe me. All I mean is, that you are too humble, too 
modest — you think too little of yourself ” 

A gentle shake of the head. 

“ Well,” said Sir George, “ we shall see.” 

And all this time Philip is sitting still as a stone in his chair, 
his eyes fixed upon the long empty plate. 

How was it that, when he lifted them, they looked so blue and 
shining. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

AN UNEXPECTED QUESTION, AND AN UNEXPECTED ANSWER. 

Nothing took place next morning different from other morn- 
ings at Freelands. 

Seldom does anything happen to point out the great days of 
our lives. They come upon us in our ordinary paths, as we go 
about our accustomed duties, and look upon our familiar faces; 
and there is no voice to whisper that we shall turn to that date 
through years and years of time, as the day of our joy, or our 
sorrow. 

It was a somewhat gloomy morning. Helen had slept badly, 
and breakfasted in bed. The post had only brought a few un- 
interesting letters, which had been quickly disposed of, and 
voted scarcely worth answering. Her sisters must go out, go 
to the village, and bring her some lozenges, and some larger 
needles, and get the mazazines which had been forgotten by the 
postman. 

They were willing to go; and left her, after luncheon, lying on 
her sofa wearily completing an unfinished piece of worsted work 
which Carry had declared was really too stupid for her to go on 
with. 

The sisters had been gone nearly an hour, when the door-bell 
suddenly rang, with a sharp demand; and two minutes after- 
ward in walked Mr. Smith. 

She was not one to be easily startled, but monotony and con- 
finement tend to shake the nerves, and her reception of him was 
not all that she could have wished. 

Her breathing would flutter, and her voice stammer. 

She was happy to see him again; hoped some of the others were 
at home; recollected they were all out; asked where he had beep, 


200 MR. SMITH. 

then blushed for her impropriety, and faltered out instead, a hope 
that he was well. 

Her visitor answered as became him. 

His tone was tender, too tender bad he not known what lay be- 
fore laim, as he expressed his regret at finding her still an invalid; 
and he spoke again and again of the happiness of being once 
more at Eastworld. 

His travels be dismissed with an air of impatience. 

He had felt obliged to go abroad, but it had been for no good, 
and had afforded him no pleasure. 

Might he take his old chair ? 

It was close to her head, and she had not thought he would 
take it, but it did not signify. All the past was to be forgotten. 
He was altered, and the alteration had to do with her. A rough 
morning suit had replaced his usual almost too carefully good at- 
tire, and there was no fiower in his button-hole. His gloves — 
even his face was dusty. His neckcloth was half pulled out. 

This to her eye bore but one interpretation. He no longer 
cared for the effect he produced in this house. It was the finish- 
ing touch to the thrust he had given her. Henceforward they 
were to stand on a different footing. 

She had so well understood it all beforehand, that there was 
no second disappointment. 

She began to talk, quietly indeed, but with ease and fluency. 
She was glad to see that at least the old appearance of friend- 
ship was to be maintained. It would help greatly to effect that 
belief in people's minds which they were so anxious to establish, 
that there never was, and never could have been, anything be- 
tween her and IMr. Smith. 

As her spirit returned, his failed. 

Here was the opportunity which he had resolved at all risks 
to obtain, when he set out that afternoon, given him with- 
out difficulty, and given him at once. 

Now was the time to do his part. 

He had said he would do it, and, come what might, he would 
not fail in his resolution, but oh, how difiScult it was! 

Five minutes, ten, a quarter of an hour passed, and he was 
still dallying with her work-table, asking after this and that, 
putting needless questions, and returning absent answers. 

The half-hour stmck. 

He felt that it must come. What should he say ? What could 
he say? He had trusted to the moment, to something coming 
in his way which he might turn to account. 

But nothing had helped him, her own manner least of all. 

The precious time was going. Next moment, any moment 
might bring interruption, her father, her sisters— and the chance 
would be gone. 

With a sense of desperation he laid his hand upon the smooth, 
slim, white one, whose taper fingers looked so transparent 
against the dark sofa coverlet. 

How thin, how soft they were! Suddenly it struck him that 
the rings were wanting, and for something to say he remarked 
ISO much aloud, 


MR. SMITH, 


201 


‘‘They are grown too large; they fall off my poor skinny fin- 
gers,” said she, smiling. And then she began to think that he 
ought not to hold her hand thus, and made as though she would 
draw it away. 

But, to her amazement, it was held fast, and held between 
both of his. 

He would say it if it choked him. 

“ If I were to give you one — not too large — to wear — for my 
sake — would you wear it — and here f' touching the third finger. 

Hush! Oh, don’t speak! I know, I know, that you would not.” 

He shrank back, bending his head to the blow — only, would 
God it had fallen, and were over! 

Was she struck dumb at his presumption ? Was she hanging 
back in pity ? Or was she merely obeying his request for silence ? 

Tick, tick, went the clock, and a blast of rain spattered against 
the window. One long, long minute passed. 

She would not apeak, and he must leave it as it was. 

Was this to be his answer ? So, he must yield up the dear pos- 
session that he held, and feel the sacrifice complete. 

He drew himself up to go. Yet one word more. He thought 
it would be better, would really be better, and then all would be 
})lain between them, and he need never trouble her more. 

“Dear lady.” said he, softly, “I know the pain it will give 
you to say it, but if it must be ‘ No,’ the ‘ No ’ would be better 
said. I can bear the worst now. You need not fear that I— that 
you — that I will ever molest you. Once with me means for 
altogether. Say then, is it ‘ No ’ ?” 

Not a word said she. 

“Then take your hand from mine,” and he unclasped it 
gently. 

The hand remained where it was. 

He began to tremble. “Helen, what does this mean? What 
are you doing? Are you deceiving yourself, or me?” 

His voice grew harsh and sharp. “Say No, no, no, and seal 
my fate at once, but do not trifle with me, in the name of 
heaven!” 

Her lips moved, but he could catch no sound. He turned, the 
tears were raining down her cheek. 

“ Child, can it be ‘Yes’?” 

“Yes.” 

His head fell down upon his hands, hers dropped from between 
them. 

It might have been at that instant, or it might have been some 
minutes after, that voices, footsteps, bustle, were heard in the 
hall. 

The walking party had returned. With an incoherent excla- 
mation he rushed out among them, and passed by. They, flying 
to her for an explanation, found her crying. 


m MR, SMITH. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE MIRAGE. 

“Oh, it’s delightful, delightful!” exclaimed Lily, for the 
twentieth time that evening, as she seated herself at the tea- 
table, alone with her eldest sister. “ To think of its all coming 
right at last, as I said it would. Not that I ever thought it! I 
felt as sure it was all over as I ever did of anything in my life. 
And it was all a mistake from beginning to end! We shall find 
out what it was, some day. Colonel Aytoun at the bottom of it, 
I dare swear. I should like to see your face now, Mr. Colonel! 
You ought to have a special invitation to the wedding. Oh! and 
Helen, nothing could be better than the way he has done it, 
after all. His disappearing, turning up in this fashion, taking 
us all by surprise, I declare it is quite romantic! And, Nelly,” 
she rattled on, “ don’t you see how lucky it is that we have none 
of us even seen him, except you ? That will speak for itself. No 
one will have a word to say; the Hunts even, cannot accuse you. 
The dear, delightful man, I love him already; and ‘ All’s well 
that ends well ’ shall be my motto to the end of my life!” 

Helen made no attempt to check her rapture. It did not suit 
her, it jarred upon her, and she would fain have turned a deaf 
ear, if she could. But, not in this supreme moment of gratifica- 
tion, was she one to damp the sympathy of those around her. 

She had borne the turn of Fortune well. She had so changed 
since that afternoon when, in the intoxication of anticipated 
triumph, she had reveled in the discomfiture of those who had 
tried to snatch from her the prize, that it was not till Lily re- 
called them to her memory, that she gave them so much as a 
thought. 

Her heart glowed with happiness. 

A new spring of life seemed within her. The world shone. 

She could not work, she could not eat, she could not talk. 
She could but lie quiet thinking over it all, with her eyes still 
hot, but sparkling softly; wondering at herself and at him. 

“ We heard of his arrival,” Lily had narrated, “as soon as we 
got to the Hunts. They had seen him. Mrs. Hunt had seen him 
pass the Bains’ window; and after we left them his man came fly- 
ing down to the village — I suppose to get some things. The other, 
the butler, or whatever he may be, took up the luggage, the Hunts 
said. They had evidently been watching like cats; for Mrs. Hunt 
said that, from everything she could see, he had arrived unexpect- 
edly. She was too much excited even to make a decent appear- 
ance of hiding it. Well, directly she said that, my heart jumped, 
for I thought, ‘ He has come after Nelly!’ So we forgot all 
about the magazines, and came home as fast as we could to tell 
yon, when, whom should we encounter in the hall but the man 
himself! Fortunately I had got your needles though, but I dare 
say you will do no more work to-night!” 

“ Did he speak to you ?” inquired her sister, 

“ Not a word. He ran by like a ghost, and I thought he had 
gone crazy, or else that we had. Tiie apparition was rather 
startling, you must allow, Then it darted into my head, that 


Mit. SMITH. 203 

he had been with you, and I guessed the whole. Is he coming 
here to-morrow ?” 

Helen supposed he was, but smiled as she owned she really 
could not tell. Their coming home had been unfortunately pre- 
mature. He had left her in a friglit. 

“So much the better,” said Lily, cheerfully; “we shall see 
him all the sooner back again. Now, then, don’t you want your 
tea ?” 

“ Yes, I do.” She drew in her chair. 

“You have been able to sit up to tea a week, and to dinner 
tw’O days,” said Lily. “ I daresay you will get on fast now. We 
must ask Dr. Hunt about the drive; theie will be no difficulty 
about carriages now,” archly. 

Helen smiled again, and sipped her tea. “I really am getting 
hungry. If you will ring the bell, I’ll ask for some toast, I think. 
Tea and toast is my favorite combination.” 

Corker brought the toast, and with it a letter. The bearer, he 
said, was to wait and see if there was any answer. 

•‘Is it from him?” said Lily, in a loud whisper, as the door 
closed. 

“ HushI Yes. Now, be quiet, and don’t speak till I have 
read it. Go and tell papa tea is ready, and then I shall have 
peace.” 

She threw lierself back in the arm-chair. Lily did not go, but 
as she held her tongue, she considered she had done what was 
required of her. It would have been too much to have given up 
the gi-atification of watching Nelly's face. 

The letter ran thus: 

“ When I spoke to you this afternoon, my dear young lady, T 
took you, I fear, too much by surprise. That it is probable you 
had no suspicion whatever of my feelings beforehand, I am but 
too w^ell aware; and I cannot help tormenting myself with the 
doubt whether, had you had time for reflection, you would have 
given me the too, too kind answer you did. If I should be thus 
found taking an unfair advantage, all my present happiness 
would vanish. And if you should, under a false idea that any- 
thing in your previous behavior compelled you to yield, have 
spoken what you would willingly retract, I should never forgive 
myself, unless I gave you the chance of doing so. You never 
gave me the slightest reason to imagine you had any warmer 
feeling for me than that of friendship, and I can hardly yet be- 
lieve that you pardon my presumptuous folly in supposing so. 
Yet if it is, if it can be as I dare to hope, say so again. Then, 
and not till then, will my mind be at rest. My dear, think it 
over well before you decide.” (“ Bless the man— three sheetsi” 
ejaculated Lily, under her breath.) Helen turned to the third. 

“ My man will wait to receive an answer. If he brings me 
word that one will be sent, I shall remain here awaiting it. If, 
however, during the hours that have elapsed since I left you, no 
misgivings have entered your mind, and it is made up now, as 
then, say that there is ‘ no answer,’ and wdien next I come, I 
hope to place on your finger the ring you thought you could 


204 


MR. SMITH. 


wear for my sake. In that case I shall not be with you till to- 
morrow evening, as I must go to town and choose it myself. 
J. S.” 

There was no ending beyond the simple initials of his name; 
he had found it too difficult to make one. 

Helen read the whole slowly, then rose without deliberation, 
and rang the bell. 

“ I would have rung for you,” said Lily; “you need not have 
got up.” 

“Never mind, thank you. Corker, please say there is no 
answer.” 

“ Yes, miss.” 

“ No answer, remember.” 

“ Yes, miss,” resentfully. 

“That’s emphatic,” remarked Lily. “It is all right, I 
suppose ?” 

“ All right; as right as it can be. What a man he is! I am 
proud of him, Lily, I can tell you. It will be no marriage for 
money, whatever may be said.” 

“ Well, you would hardly have married him tvithout,^^ re- 
flected her sister. 

“That is another question. He does not marry me for my 
eyes, or my nose, or ray mouth, but I doubt whether he would 
have married me had I been without any one of them.” 

“ But perhaps he does marry you for one of them!” 

“Tuts! Take some one else, then. Mrs. Rodney, what a little 
pug nose she has! no one could say her Arthur married her for 
it; but if she had been without one at all, she might never have 
been his wife.” 

Helen mused a moment, and went on soberly: 

“ I believe there are more matches of this sort than people 
think. If a man or a woman is young and rather good-looking, 
and there is only a nice small fortune, it is kept altogether in 
the background. Every one calls it a love-match, and he or she 
on whose side the money is not, is applauded up to the skies. Of 
course it is all right. They canH marry without money, and so 
they must only think of those who have it. And they may be 
very happy together, and very fond of each other too. "But why, 
only because there happens to be more money, there should be 
supposed to be less love, or no love at all, I can’t see. I believe 
there will be as much affection between Mr. Smith and me, as 
between half the couples in tlie world.” 

“ There will be plenty on his side, no doubt,” said Lily, affec- 
tionately. Her love for this sister was her redeeming point. 

“ You must give over callihg him Mr. Smith now,” added she, 
laughing. “What is it to be? John? I think I hear you. I 
know how it will be. ‘ John says this,’ and ‘John thinks that,’ 
in the true matrimonial style. A pretty life you’ll lead your 
John, poor man! He little thinks what is before him. He’ll be 
carried about eveiywhere like a tame cat.” 

“ He’ll be nothing of the sort,” said Helen, indignantly. “I 
hope I know better how to keep up a husband’s dignity, I am 


MR. SMITH. 205 

much mistaken if he does not know better, too. There is noth- 
ing of the tame cat about him.” 

“ I wouldn't keep him, then, my dear,” said her father, who 
liad entered in time to hear the last sentence. “It is not safe. 
I did not like his look at all the day we were there. There was 
a ferocious glare in his eyes, and he showed his teeth ” 

“ Who are you talking about, papa?” cried his daughters. 

“Not the person we were, lam sure,” added Helen. 

“ Person ? Oh, I thought you said a cat. I thought you and 
Lily were talking about that nasty black cat up at the Hill. I 
wonder Smith keeps such a creature.” 

Mr. Tolleton had an aversion to cats. 

“ They are the ruin of furniture,” he continued, “ and always 
getting into the larder.” 

“ I like cats,” said Helen; “and that was as nice a one as I 
ever saw. It was too clean to harm anything. And I shan’t 
turn against it behind its master’s back, as Lily did against Jump- 
er. She had been patting Jumper and making a fuss about him 
one day when he came with Philip, and I wondered how she 
could, for his coat was soaking, and he was rubbing it against 
her nice new muslin, when all of a sudden she pushed him away 
as hard as she could, calling him an abominable creature for 
spoiling her dress! It turned out that Philip had left the 
room. 

“ I remember,” said Lily. “ I can’t help laughing myself when 
I think of it. The mark of his horrid feet, and his face of utter 
astonishment ? He has distrusted me ever since.” 

“I wonder what Philip will say when he hears of this,” said 
Carry, who had been in the room for some time, but had not 
spoken before. Do you think he will be surprised ?” 

“ I don’t,” said Lily. 

Helen did not answer. 

“What if they should meet here to-morrow?” continued 
Carry. 

“Mr. Smith is not coming till the evening,” said her sister. 
“ Now can any of you guess why?” 

Guesses were made, but the truth was not approached. She 
had the pleasure of surprising them all thoroughly. 

“ The engagement ring!” cried Lily. “ Oh, well done he! 
Isn’t it jolly? Doesn’t it bring it all so near ? To think that only 
last night we were sitting round this table just as we are now. all 
so humdrum and so slow, and dreaming of nothing less than this! 
Do you remember, Nelly, you were talking of getting those 
mauve skiiTs turned for the summer, and how we could con- 
trive bunches out of the unnecessary breadths? Carry and I will 
divide your skirt between us now, and have bunches to any ex- 
tent. What a scramble w’e shall have for your clothes, and 
what a trousseau you will have!” 

“Shall vou need a very large one, my dear?” inquired her 
fatlier, anxiously. “ There is not too much money, you know.*’ 

“ I had not thought about it yet, papa. But I certainly don’t 
mean to spend much mooev. It will be far better to have few 
things, and good of their kind, than a great variety.” 


206 


MR, SMITH, 


“ Yes, and all the boots and shoes, and things of that sort, 
can be filled in afterward, except what are wanted for actual 
use,*’ said Lily . “ There will be no need to go in for those heaps 

of underclothing that Sarah Gray had. Her mother said as she 
was marrying a poor man it was better to fit her out in that way, 
tliau to give her silk dresses.” 

“ She had one or two very nice silks,” said Helen. “ I thought 
Mrs. Gray very sensible about it. She gave her just what she 
wanted, and what she could really wear. It would have been 
nonsense to load her with useless finery. 

“ Well, but you aren’t going to be an East End curate’s wife.” 

“ No, and of course that make’s the difference. I shall be able 
to afford underclothing whenever I want it, and I must have a 
few more gowns. But I mean to take a hint from Mrs. Gray in 
this. I sh^l get what will be useful for me, and do without all 
that is unnecessary, as Sarah did. And I mean to take care of 
your money too, papa.” 

“ You were always the best of girls in that way, my dear. I 
wish we may get on as well without you!” And he sighed. 

“I’m going such a little way off,” said Helen, cheerfully, 
“ that you will hardlv miss me. I could not well have come 
closer, unless I had eloped with the new steward at Sauffrenden.” 

“ Ah, I wonder what the Sauffrendens will say!” said Lily. 

“They have no say in the matter,” replied her father, with 
asperity. 

Helen smiled. “ Perhaps they will be friends with us now, 
papa.” 

“ Humph! They used us very ill, that’s all I can say. I meet 
Lord Sauffrenden constantly, and he never ta kes the slightest 
notice of me, though I see him speaking to every one else in the 
village.” 

“He can hardly speak to you as a villager.” 

“ He ought to speak to me as a gentleman.” 

“Oh, well, it is an old story, papa. They did not want to 
know us, and took the only way they could. There is no need 
to rake it up now. I should not be the least surprised if they 
come forward at last.” 

“ Why should they come forward now? It is too late. I 
went to call, called at once, the very day after they came. No 
one could have been more attentive, and that ^7as how they 
recieived it! Rude was not the word. It was ” 

“I wonder what the ring will be!” Helen changed the con- 
versation. 

“Diamonds, of course,” said Lily. 

“Yes, diamonds, I daresay. I must confess I shall enjoy 
showing that diamond ring to Mrs. Hunt.” 

“She has not been nice,” said Carry, in the tone of a judge 
summing up. 

“ She never is,” said Lily. 

“ As if he ever would have thought of Maria!” 

“ Carry thinks he would much sooner have thought of her.” 

“I did not think anything of the sort,” retorted Carry, 
sharply. “ I was thinking of Mrs, Hunt,” 


MR. 8MTTII. 


207 


The truth was that she had gone alone to the Hunts, not long 
after Mr. Smith’s departure, and just at the time wlien the mis- 
givings of husband and wife were making them very uneasy, 
fcs. Hunt had been overjoyed to catch the simple one of the 
Tolletons alone. A thorough cross-examination had been gone 
through, and too openly. 

Carry had seen through it, and done wonders. Even her sis- 
ters had complimented her afterward; and ever since she had 
plumed herself upon the interview, and retained an acute im- 
pression that Mrs. Hunt had not been nice. 

The Fultons were next discussed at the tea-table. Helen, as 
she had always done, did Miss Fulton justice. No, it was not 
Cornelia; it was the Admiral. The Admiral would find himself 
in the wrong boat now. 

“ I never did like the Admiral,” said Mr. Tolleton, candidly. 
“ He was always very bad to me.” 

“They were quite friendly at one time,” said Lilj; “but of 
late they have been drawing back more and more — 1 am sure I 
doi^'t know why. I suppose we don’t suit their old-fashioned no- 
tions. Perhaps, Nelly, if the Sauffrendeus come forward, we 
may see them too.” 

“ Old-fashioned notions are sometimes the best,” said Helen, 
gravely. “We have been wild girls, we three, but when I turn 
chaperon I hope to see you both sol^r down.” 

Carry looked pleased at the idea of her needing to sober down. 

She was always afraid of being thought sensiole. “ You have 
been sobering down yourself for some time,” said Lily. “ Don’t 
get any soberer or you will send me off in the other direction.” 

“ I should be sorry to do that.” 

Lily looked at her sister. 

“ I don’t know what has come over Helen, but the mantle of 
Mrs. Smith seems already to have fallen on Miss Tolleton. It is 
he who has done it, I know,” discontentedly. 

“ Perhaps it is,” said Helen. “Never mind, Lily, you won’t 
quarrel with me if I look sober in diamonds.” 

Lily’s spirits were restored in a moment, and the evening closed 
happily to all. 


CHAPTER XXXHI. 

OUR FRIENDS’ DISAPPOINTMENTS. 

“ Mrs. Hunt’s in a fine fuss about Mr. Smith’s coming back,” 
said Miss Bain to Lyddy, as the two old maids sat togetlier over 
their sewing. ‘ ‘ I'll tell you what, Lyddy, there are some people 
who think all their geese are swans, and a swan would be an 
ornamental creature at the house on the Hill! He! he! he!” she 
finished off with a little cackle. 

Lyddy stared at her sister, and tried to cackle likewise; but 
she had not caught the meaning of the allegory. 

“Is Mrs. Hunt so fond of Mr. Smith, sister?” 

“ So fond of him, Lyddy, that she would do anything in the 
world for him. She even wants to find him a better wife than 
Cornelia Fulton.” 


208 


MR, SMITH. 


‘‘ Goodness, ’Melia, not one of us!” 

“No, indeed; I hope our behavior would put a stop to any 
ideas of that kind,” said ’Melia, with dignity. “No one can say 
that you or I ran after him. Besides, for all his name is Smith, 
and nobody knows who or what his grandfather was, he is too 
fine a gentleman to be evened to us, Lyddy. He’s for our bet- 
ters, you know. It is the young ladies who are pulling caps for 
him. Now, can't you guess?” 

Lyddy couldn’t guess, and deprecated with an appealing 
glance her sister’s contempt. 

“Well, then, you are a dull thing!” said ’Melia. “Any one 
with half an eye could see that Mrs. Hunt wants him for one of 
her girls!” 

“’Melia! No!” 

“Ay or no, that’s what she does. Why, this afternoon she 
showed it so plain, that I had it on the tip of my tongue to say, 

‘ Dear me, Mrs. Hunt, he’s all but engaged t() Mies Cornelia!’ 
Not that he is, you know, but just to see how she would take it. 
What a stir she made when she saw him pass the window! and 
it was, ‘ Oh! there’s Mr. Smith! !’ ” (dropping her work, and 
giving a lively representation of the scene.) “ ‘ There’s Mr. 
Smith! !’ cries she. ‘Indeed! and what may Mr. Smith be to 
you ?’ thinks I. But you see I never said a whisht, and on she 
ran about him, — where he had been, how long he had been 
away, and what could have brought him back so sudden. ‘ And 
the girls will be pleased!’ says she. ‘Oho!’ thinks I, then, ‘ the 
girls will be pleased, vvill they? So that’s the story, is it? Then 
I think I know what it all means, mistress.’ But you see, 
Lyddy, there are two words to that bargain, and maybe, Mr. 
Smith’s word may be long of coming.” 

“Dear me!” cried Lyddy, enthusiastically; “he might do a 
deal worse. Nice young things, though not precisely handsome; 
and living close by. She would be under her mother’s eye all the 
time. It would really be a most suitable connection.” 

“ That’s all you know about it, Lyddy. If I were Mr. Smith, 

I know whether I should like to have her mother’s eye upon me 
all the time! And as to his ever thinking of one of those slip- 
shod girls — if he is thinking of anybody, it’s Helen Tolleton!” 

‘ ‘ Sister! Helen Tolleton !” 

The tone of amazement, remonstrance, reproach! Lyddy ’s 
faith in her sister was shaking. 

“ Ay, Helen Tolleton! just her, and no one else.” 

In ’Melia’s tone leaked out nothing biit unmitigated enjoy- 
ment. 

“ Mark my words, if he marries at all, it won’t be till after he 
has asked her.” 

“ Sister! But do you think he will marry her, then ?” 

“I can’t tell, Lyddy ^I can’t tell whether or no she would 
have him; but worse boats than that have come to land. Now 
I have a notion that this has more to do with his coming back ^ 
than other folks fancy,” addetl she, mysteriously. 

Lyddy pondered. 

“ What set you thinking of it?” said she, at last. 


MR. 


209 


“ I had a suspicion that night of the feast.” 

“ And you never told me!” with a note of complaint. 

“Where were your ejes not to see it for yourself? But I 
didn’t want to have it said about that we had set it going. The 
next thing would have been, that we were after him ourselves.” 

“ I would never have set it going, I’m sure,’’ murmured Lyddv. 
“ What was it you saw that night 

“You know she was behind in the pantry. Well, he was 
always poking about there, though he didn’t go in; Wt I must 
confess that this only came to me after I had seen him speaking 
to her.” 

“ I thought he never spoke to her at all.” 

“Ah! did be not? I think he did, though. When no one was 
looking. And I know where he sat when the magic-lantern was 
going on, though Mrs. Hunt doesn’t. But if I had never had a 
thought about it, I should have found him out by the way he 
looked at her at supper.” 

“Well, you are sharp! To think of noticing all that! Why, I 
had enough ado to keep my tongue going, and do justice to all 
the good things besides. I never thought of Mr. Smith nor his 
looks, not I. Except — well, yes— for a moment, when I could 
not take the two jellies, and I’m sure he thought it rude. But I 
really was afraid. One can’t take everything, w’hen the dishes 
never seem to end — but you do notice things in a wonderful way. 
And so he was looking at her at supper, was he ?” 

“ His eyes were just fixed upon her from beginning to end.” 

“ It would never do, sister.” 

“Why not, Lyddy?” 

Lyddy shook her head. 

“ It may have to do, whether or no. Who’s to help its doing? 
It’s not for you or me to say. They must ‘gang their ain gait,’ 
as father used to tell us. Time was when the Tolletons held 
their heads with the highest, little though they are thought of 
now.” 

“Like ourselves, sister,” with gentle melancholy. “If it 
weren’t for the caddy and the old mull, I would sometimes for- 
get we ever belonged to the Macbains. However,” continued 
she, in a brisker tone, “ that’s neither here nor there. We have 
many mercies and ought to be thankful. I never thought to see 
that grease-spot come out of the tartan. Mrs. Hunt was really 
most good-natured. And so you think Mr. Smith will maiTy 
Helen Tolleton ?” 

“ Na!” ejaculated Miss Bain, quickly, “ I never said that; no- 
body can go that length. But I’ll tell you who he won’t marry, 
and that’s Maria Hunt. ” 

“ Dear me, sister! That will be a sad disappointment.” 

“ Like enough, Lyddy, but disappointments come to all. Peo- 
ple shouldn’t count their chickens before they are hatched!” 

Thus lightly do we take the disappointments of our friends. 

For sorrows, sufferings, and losses, we have sympathy, but 
why should we bewail disappointments? They are the lot of the 
aspiring; the fall of the high-minded; the offspring of presump- 
tion; the result of unreason; the corrective medicine after un- 


210 


MR. RMITH. 


wholesome food. Bitter may be the draught, but happy those 
to whom it is administered in due season. 

Ah, but when it comes nigh us! When we writhe under the 
merciless stroke, the unsparing scythe that sweeps our schemes 
in sunder! 

Is it nothing, then, to know that the easy assent which we 
gave before, it is the turn of others to give now? 

Does this cause no fresh bleeding of the wound ? Down in the 
shades of the Valley of Humiliation we can still tell what eyes 
are watching us, or not. 

Helen Tolleton, in her great disappointment, had felt that if 
she were spared this, she could bear the rest. 

She knew what sort of eyes would have looked down on her; 
cold, cruel, exulting, rudely familiar eyes. She saw them many 
a night in her dreams. 

And now at last they vanished. 

All through the hours of that long, light, flickering night 
which followed the eventful day, Helen lay awake. 

She did not want to sleep. She was not restless. She was 
willing to lie still with her fa<ie turned to the window, looking 
out. 

The clear serene heavens, the pale shadow of the moon on the 
garden pond, the hush, the calm over the land, were all in har- 
mony with the peace which filled her soul. She felt a swell of 
thanksgiving. 

Anew she planned the life that was before her; the easy, 
happy, good life. 

Old shifts, and tricks, ard stories thrown behind her; new 
graces, beauties, accomplishments, and adornments, hers. 

It was impossible to cheat her fancy of its flights. 

At length daylight broke, and sleep followed; and though 
filled by dreams fabling the truth, or distorting it into fantastic 
forms and shapes, still the sun was high in the heavens ere she 
unclosed her eyes. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

“OH, MY LORD, HAVE YOU HEARD THE NEWS? 

April fool’s day. Not a breath of wind to stir the larch es, 
a passing cloud to darken even with April tear-drops. Birds 
jubilant in the woodlands. Budding hedgerows, primroses, 
violets over all the land. Sweet scents and sweet sounds. Sweet 
old England on a day like this! 

Down stepped Lord Sauffrenden through the village with an 
elastic tread. All the world was right with him again. He had 
just arrived from London, prospered in his ways; and now had 
the dear delight in store of narrating to his wife, his friends, and 
the public generally (in confidence), the particulars of Colonel 
Aytoun’s dinner-party. 

All day before, he had been bursting with the intelligence. 
He had had no one to confide in. Philip had gone off some- 
where, and he had been forced to remain in town. He was ach- 
ing with a desire for a listener, and a listener was not at liand; 


MR. SMITH. 311 

for Milly, whatever she might pretend, would enjoy the scene to 
liis heart’s content. 

Nevertheless, as he passed the post-office door, he yielded a 
few minutes to turn aside and inquired for his letters. The even- 
ing post was in. His own bag would convey them to the Castle 
half an hour after his arrival; but what idle man likes to wait 
half an hour for his letters ? Great men, busy men, hard- work- 
ed men, are fain to get away from the penny post; men who do 
nothing, never. 

To Saufifrenden it was often the event of the da 3 ^ 

Was this why he was so often found in the little shop ? Not al- 
together. He learnt a great deal there. He saw strangers; he 
heard talk. He loved to linger, sit down, chat, and look about 
him. He loved to feel he was welcome. 

Welcome he was. They would not have known the place 
vvuthout him. Everything fresh was laid aside for his inspec- 
tion. Every scrap of news served up, as it were hot, between 
plates. 

The Hunts from their window's w'ere his respectful watchers. 
Dr. Hunt, so soon as he saw' the gray shooting clothes disappear 
among the new'spapers would put himself in the way. Mr. 
Rodney would sigh his very, very mildest sigh over so much 
wasted time. Mr. Bartlett growd his faintest groAvl at the affront 
to the bank. 

For they all liked him; they all cherished him. He was one of 
themselves; a father, husband, brother, son of the soil. 

“ Oh, my lord, have you heard the news?” 

The postmaster knew he would call; had been w'aiting for 
him; would not have missed being the one to tell him first, for 
the world. 

“ A.ha! it’s out already!” thought SauflPrenden, beaming all 
over. “ No, Fletcher, I have heard nothing. 1 have been away. 
Just come down by the 7.10.” 

“ Indeed, my lord! You have heard nothing, then?” 

“No; but I own there is something I should not be surprised 
to hear. I suspect it’s that, eh ? Mr. Smith ?” 

“ It is indeed, my lord,” solemnly. 

“ You did not look for him so soon back among you?” 

“ No, indeed, my lord,” still more solemnly. “ And then this 
to follow!” added Fletcher, moralizing. 

“ Why, man, you look as if it were his funeral. I think Mr. 
Smith’s friends have every reason to congratulate him.” 

“ My lord!” 

“ I do, indeed. Why not?” 

“ Your lordship surely does not understand ” 

“ Perfectly, I assure you, and what is more, I approve.’* 

The postmaster rubbed his head in perplexity. “ It only hap- 
pened this afternoon,” he said, wistfully. 

“Just when I expected that it would happen; either to-day or 
yesterday at least. I though he said yesterday” (soito voce). 
Aloud, “ Come, tell me what you have against it ? What do you 
pull such a long face about? eh?” 

“ We shall miss Mr. Smith very greatly, my lord. He hasn’t 


‘212 


MR. SMITH. 


been long here, and we didn’t care very much about him when 
he corned. But there’s nobody on the ground, you and my lady 
of course excepted, that’s grown to be more thought ,^n.” 

“ Well, so he ought to be. But you are not going to lose 
him ?” 

“ We have lost him, my lord.” 

The postmaster stared at Lord Sauffrenden, who stared still 
more at him. 

“Lost him! How have you lost him?” He could not make 
it out. 

“ The news is just come in, my lord; I thought as how you 
could hardly have heard it. Mr. Smith is dead!” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

NO HOPE. 

Mr. Smith was dead, and within an hour of his death there 
was scarcely a man or woman in Eastworld who did not know 
of it. 

It came upon them like a thunder-clap. 

They did not want him when he came, as the postmaster said, 
but they knew what he was when he was gone. 

His praises were in every mouth. It seemed as though, when 
living, he had possessed but half his virtues; and dead, the other 
half had been supplied him. 

He was dead! He had been alive in the morning, and ;it 
noonday; and when even came, he was dead ! 

They "talked of him in the past tense. They whispered of what 
he had been. He was no longer present with them; he was no 
longer one of them. He was dead. 

Strange! Awful! Terrible! The commonplace words re- 
sounded in every dwelling. 

When had it been? Where? How? Who had been with 
him ? Who had seen him ? 

Was it true? Was it certain? 

Alas! It was too true, too certain. The words were yet. 
upon their lips when another and another messenger confirmed 
the tale. 

There had been no warning, no alarm. Not the gentlest note 
of preparation had sounded in his ears. He had been alive and 
well at five o’clock, and before seven he was gone. 

Of course they had come for the doctor. But the doctor had 
returned home confounded, and sad at heart. It was all over. 
His remaining could be of no use. And by that time every one 
knew. 

Lord Sauffrenden conveyed the news to his wife with a look 
almost of despair. 

The Fultons refused to believe. 

And at one house in the neighborhood there was neither weep- 
ing nor wailing, neither question nor answer, but a great, cold, 
silent blank. 

It was as though the bitter cup were to be twice drunk. 

As a dream within a dream is first broken, leaving the dreamer 


MR. SMITH. 213 

happy still, because he fancies at least it is no illusion now — so 
had she been dreaming on. 

Her first vision had been rudely dispelled. She believed she 
had awoke to reality. Alas! the second proved the more transi- 
tory phantasm of the two. 

Slight, slight as the hope had been at the first awakening, it 
was hope indeed compared with this. “ In the grave,” saiththe 
Scripture, “there is no hope;” no change, no return, no appeal, 
no reversion. 

The sheaf was ripe for the sickle, and the sickle had cut it 
down. 

At last small particulars began to creep out. 

Mr. Smith had been up to town again. He had stayed there 
only a few hours. He liad returned by the five o’clock train, 
ordered his dinner an hour earlier than usual, and stated that he 
was going out in the evening. 

The servants were of opinion that he had never seemed in 
better health or spirits. 

After giving his orders he had gone to his room to dress. 

John had taken him hot water, and remarked that he poured 
some out for shaving, which he never did at that hour, unless he 
were going into company. 

He had reiterated injunctions that his dinner should on no ac- 
count be later than six, and John had come down and told the 
cook; and the cook had been very cross when, at six o’clock 
punctually, she had sent in the soup, and a quarter of an hour 
afterward her master had not come out of his room. 

She had cried out about people talking to her of being in 
time, who had never been late in her life, and then keeping 
her fish on the fire till all the juice was like to be out of them — 
and at last John had gone up and tapped at the bedroom door. 

The tap had been unresjwnded to, and he had tapped till he 
was tired. 

At length he had peeped into the room. Not seeing any one, 
he had concluded that his master had stepped out; and was 
turning back to the door, when his eye fell on Mr. Smith fallen 
down all in a heap, between the washing-stand and the bed. 

He had tried directly to raise him, though greatly terrified, 
never having seen any one in a fit before. He didn’t know 
whether they went cold in fits or not, but thought by his mas- 
ter’s face he must be pretty bad. 

He had called for help, but couldn’t make any of the others 
hear. 

He had got him on to the bed, and run down to fetch the 
rest. 

The cook had said— or else it was Martha— none of them could 
rightly remember who had said it, but at any rate they had all 
felt it, felt sure in a moment that it wasn’t like any fit they had 
ever seen. 

Mr. Bowling and John, however, had unloosed his things; and 
cook had rubbed his feet -with pepper and vinegar; and Martlia 
had burnt featla'i’s under his nose. 


214 


MR. SMITH. 


Then John had run off for tlie doctor, and they had all lost a 
good master and a kind friend. 

Such was the household evidence. 

As a supplement, they produced from the waistcoat -pocket a 
jeweler’s box, containing a lady’s diamond ring. 

Dr. Hunt listened decorously and sadly to the end ; but when 
he saw the ring he started. 

Ha! what was this? Whose ring was that ? His hand fell to 
his side. His spirit went from him. 

Then, with a long deep breath, came reflection. 

That ring told a tale. Those diamonds would never have been 
Maria’s. If not Maria’s, whose ? Helen Tolleton’s. 

He felt ascertain of it as if he had seen them gleaming on her 
finger. 

To think of this having been in store for him. 

He had had a vision of it, it is true; a foreboding, an ugly 
dream. He had seen Mr. Smith’s face giving the message at his 
door, in his nightmares. 

But dreams do not always, do not often, come to pass. Weeks 
had gone by. His suspicions had been lulled; he had slept in se- 
curity. 

On the preceding day the house on the Hill had again received 
its master, and they were all anxiously awaiting what would 
follow ; his wife in a ‘ fever-fret — Maria demurely conscious, 
ready to welcome change of any sort. 

He had a note in his pocket for Mr. Smith at the moment he 
received the summons. 

Then came the doubt, the conviction, and the evidence. As 
he walked home his brain was in a tumult. 

He would have said, no doubt, that he was far too much 
shocked to think. He firmly believed 1,hat he was stunned by 
such a blow. He had not had time to think of anything. 

But the ring was before his eyes all the time, and he knew it, 
and was ashamed of it. 

Was it possible ? Absolutely true ? Not only coming to this, 
but come already ? " 

He had a sense, he could not help it, of danger escaped. He 
felt like a mariner rudely cast ashore, with the breath half 
beaten out of him — shattered but safe. 

Mrs. Hunt, however, was loud in her woe and her lamenta- 
tions. 

Mr. Smith! Their dear friend, Mr. Smith! Their most partic- 
ular friend, their nearest neighbor, their — their— she must not 
say what— but poor Maria! 

Who was to break it to her ? How would she ever get over it? 
Dear, dear! she would feel it terribly. She would 

“The less said about that the better!” exclaims a sour, hard 
voice. Could it be Robert’s ? 

She is involuntarily impressed. Why so? What does he 
mean ? 

“ Don’t go and make a fool of the girl to people, Polly.” 

Make a fool of her! How was she making a fool of her? She 
was doing the very best thing for her she could. 


MR. SMITH. 


215 


She will never get over it, Robert.” 

“ Fiddlesticks! She was hard enough to get into it.” 

“ She had got quite fond of him.” 

“ She must get quite fond of some one else, then.” 

“ How can vou speak like that, my dear? How can you be 
so unkind ? The poor thing ” 

“Now I tell you w’hat it is, Polly, once for all. If you go 
and blazon it abroad that our girl is dying for love, or any 
other nonsensical rubbish of that sort, you’ll make her the most 
egregious laughing-stock that ever was. Now, I warn you. 
I have my reasons.” 

He was not so unkind as she thought. He wished to spare her. 

She waited a minute, then oozed out into a doleful whine. 
“ Just when he had come back, and we thought it was to be all 
right. If he bad stayed away altogether! But as if to make it 
the very worst ” 

“ Worst! If you talk of worst ’’ interrupted her husband, 

unable to keep it longer to himself, “ I can tell you it might 
have been worse, whatever you may think.” 

“ How ?” incredulously. 

“ Humph!” 

“There’s no use pretending, doctor; it’s just the very w’orst 
thing that could have happened. She has lost him ” 

“ But no one else has gained him.” 

Then Mrs. Hunt understood. 

“ That, I always told you, my dear, was nonsense. You never 
would believe me. But I am clear in my own mind. I shall 
say to my dying day that if he had lived Maria would had been 
his wife.” ^ 

“Say it if you please, my dear; unfortunately your saying it 
won’t make it any more certain. If you take my advice, how- 
ever, you will say it to no one but yourself.” 

Again she looked at her husband. 

His tone was biting. His eye was bloodshot. He was evi- 
dently disturbed in his inner man. 

And he had diijed so peacefully off the boiled fowls, which she 
had treated them to, confessedly in honor of the day. No shock, 
no blow, albeit of the severest, could have had power to disturb 
the digestion of that gentle meal. 

He was unreasonably cross. Was she not suffering as well as 
he ? And why should they not suffer together ? 

And why was she to be deprived of the consolation of consol- 
ing Maria ? And was it not hard that it should never be known 
that the Hill with all its glories had so nearly been reigned over 
by the doctor’s daughter ? 

She made one more effort. 

“ I must say, Robert, I think it is but due to the girl that 
people should know of the attentions he paid her. They were 
talked about, you know. Even the Tolletons ” 

“ The Tolletons!” snapped from his lips like the shutting of a 
steel clasp. “ You had better not make a fool of yourself to the 
Tolletons!” 

“ Robert! You made me jump!” 


216 


mn. SMITH. 


“You will have it, ma'ang T would have kept it from you if I 
could. The Tolletons, if you must know, lose far more in Mr. 
Smith than ever you or your daughter would have done.” 

The sheet she was turning fell from his wife’s hands. 

She was awake now, and soon, too soon, she knew the whole. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A NEW PART. 

Sitting by her husband's side, and hearing from his lips the 
blasting of her last grain of comfort, Mrs, Hunt gave up all 
powers of resistance. 

Her rock had fallen, and now there was not even sand for her 
to cast her anchor into. 

Words failed. Mechanically her fingers drew the sheet again 
upon her knee, but the needle moved not. She never turned 
a sheet again without its giving her a shiver. 

When the first pain had become somewhat deadened, however, 
she could form a resolution. Come what might, no word of this 
should ever cross her lips. She might think her own thoughts, 
and suspect her own suspicions, but to no human being would 
she ever own them. She would boldly scout the idea of Helen 
Tolleton; and if the Fultons were mentioned, shake her head. 

As far as she could, she would avoid the subject altogether. 

Such reticence, however, was soon seen to be impossible. Every 
one was talking about the ring. It was the romance of the 
death. It gave a tone, a fiavor, an essence of delightful mystery 
to the sad occurrence. It was all that was left of Mr. Smith to 
talk, think, wonder about. 

Mrs. Hunt, called upon for her opinion, gave it roundly. 

The ringl Yes, of course she had heard about the ring. The 
doctor bad told her, and he had been the first to whom it was 
shown. What did she think of it? What every one else did, 
she supposed. Then she paused. 

Would there be a whisper of Maria? Maria was never once 
hinted at. 

Miss Bain boldly ranged herself on the side o§ Miss Tolleton. 

She was wondered at, protested at, insinuated at, but she held 
her own. Ay, Helen Tolleton ! Just her, and no one else. Pray, 
why not? What had Mrs. Hunt to say against it ? 

Only this, that Mrs. Hunt would never have been more sur- 
prised at anything in her life. The very last person in all the 
world who would have entered Mrs. Hunt’s head. The very last 
likely to have attracted Mr. Smith’s notice. 

All this 'Melia understood perfectly. 

“She went half mad at the notion!” chuckled she to Lyddy, 
afterward. “ By which I knew she had got an inkling of it be- 
forehand. Something or somebody had given them the hint.” 

It was after this that the doctor’s wife began to propagate 
vehemently that idea of an abstract Mrs, Smith which she main- 
tained for some time. 

Those many weeks’ absence had not been for nothing. They 
should soon have seen the mistress of the Hill, they might take 


MR. SMITH. 


217 


her word for it. Some one he had met abroad. Some relation 
of Colonel Aytoun’s, or Sir George Lorrimer’s. No doubt it 
would have been a great thing for the neighborhood. 

It was a thousand pities, poor man! At his time of life, 
racketing hither and thither, and all the business of courting a 
lady of position had been too much for him. 

Who the lady was would no doubt be announced in the 
papers; but she owned she should have liked to have heard it 
from himself. 

The words slipped through her lips. They were lying there in 
keeping with the mask she wore, and were spoken almost before 
they were thought. 

She had not meant to tell absolute falsehoods. But when 
every look, and nod, and shake of the head was unreal, the glib 
asseveration rose spontaneously. 

Yet she knew that to have heard it from himself would have 
been more dreadful to hear than anything else she could have 
imagined. 

Well, what did she gain? An assenting face, which burst out 
laughing the moment her back w^as turned. That was all, Mrs. 
Hunt. You were too old to learn a new part in the play. 

It w’as generally felt, however, that although Mrs. Hunt might 
not believe in what she said herself, there was truth in it. 

They gave no credence to her faith in the story, but never- 
theless it was their own opinion. 

Mr. Smith had been seeking his mate elsewhere. 

He had probably come down to make new arrangements; and 
new times had been in store for the villagers. 

As this conviction forced itself upon them, their regrets grew. 

It was ordained otherwise; but they must say, to their poor 
minds it seemed a sad pity. 

And they wondered that Providence should be so overbearing; 
and though, of course, it must be submitted to, yet it was un- 
der protest, as considering it a somewhat strange and short- 
sighted dispensation. 

If Mr. Smith was to come there at all, he ought to have been 
permitted to stay. 

Who would be the next? Who would come after him? 
What would become of his money? What would be seen of 
his relations? 

Talk, talk went the village; clack, clack the gossips; and in 
the midst of them all, in the house he had built, in the home he 
had hoped to gladden, lay the silent, speechless, unrevealing 
clay, from which the spirit had departed. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

“ I WOULD RATHER DIE THAN GET IT IN THAT WAY!” 

“ At least she will have that!'’ The dejected tone came from 
Lily Tolleton, and she alluded to the diamond ring. 

Poor Helei^ad been defrauded of everything else— her hus- 
band, her ht^e, her jewels, and her carriages; but at least, for 


318 MR. SMITH. 

all she had gone through, “ for all her pains, for all her cares,” 
she would have that. 

Little indeed was a single ring for one who had so lately con- 
templated whole sets and caskets of precious stones. It had been 
regarded simply as the earnest of what was to come; and behold! 
it was all that was left. 

Still Lily felt that it was something. Two days had passed 
during which she had thought there would be nothing. Since 
his engagement it was all but impossible that Mr. Smith should 
have made a fresh will, bequeathing to their sister any portion 
of those worldly goods with which at his marriage he would 
have promised to endow her. and the whole brilliant future had 
faded like a mirage — not only a prospect that was no more, but 
one that had never really existed at all. 

Helen had refused to discuss the subject. It would do no one 
any good, she had said wearily, and she would rather not. 

Now, however, she roused herself. Lily had adverted to the 
ring in her presence. 

“ I don’t imderstand what you mean!” said she. “ What have 
I to do with it ?” 

“ It is your ring, Nelly; the one he went to London for.” 

“ It would have been mine, but that is nothing now.” 

“ Why nothing? Of course it is yours, all the same.” * 

“ Very well if you will, but I shall never see it.” 

“ Do you mean that they won’t give it you ?” 

“ How are they to know ?” 

“ If they don’t know, we can tell them. You can show them 
the letter. ’ 

Helen’s eyes flashed. “The letter? What can you be think- 
ing of ? Show his letter!” 

“Why not? You need not show the whole; just enough to 
prove the fact. The last sentence about the ring, and the signa- 
ture, would be enough.” * 

“ If I thought I could do a thing like that!” cried Helen, “ I 

would And what would be the reward ? A trinket I could 

never bear to look upon.” 

“ You have had other trinkets you never could bear to look 

upon. You ” Lily stopped short, frightened. “There now, 

don’t be angry. I am so vexed myself, that I don’t know what 
Tm saying. I thought at least you would have that.” 

“ I am not angry,” said Helen, in a low voice; “ but you must 
never say those things again. It is strange that you should 
think it likely to make me forget myself a second time, being 
reminded that I did once, and have been ashamed of it ever 
since.” 

“Yes, I know,” said Lily, r)enitently; “but this is quite 
different.” 

“ It is different, but I am different too. 8o mercenary ” 

“ Not altogether mercenary. You had a grt^at regard for him, 
and would like to wear it for his sake.” 

“ I had such a regard for him,” replied her sister, “ that his 
very memory would stand up and condemn me if I did. Wear 
it for his sake! If it had been a shabby bit of brass .^j^iould I have 


MR. SMITH. 


219 


like^i to wear it ? If it had been an ugly widow’s cap, or a great 
crape veil! No, thank heaven! I know myself better, and lam 
not such a hypocrite as that!” 

“ Perhaps they may find out, and send it to you,” suggested 
Lily’s sanguine spirit. “You would wear it if it were given to 
you. I suppose ?” 

Helen made no answer for a few minutes. Then she burst out 
suddenly — 

“ The way he trusted me! The way he believed in me! And 

bethought me so good, and so Oh, it is hard!” cried she, 

sobbing. “ I shall never have such another chance — never! I 
should like to have his ring, no one knows how much; but I 
would rather die than get it in that way!” 

Helen speaking like that! Helen weeping for her lover! It 
was incomprehensibly awful. Lily stole from her presence re- 
buked and abashed. 

At the Castle they were talking about the ring too. 

Sir George Lorrimer, who was the dead man’s sole executor, 
had brought it there, and, showing it to Sauflfrenden, suggested, 
“ Don’t you think she ought to have it ?” 

To his surprise Sauffrenden demurred. 

“ The only thing is,” said he, “ that it might be considered as 
an insult.” 

“An insult!” 

“ Supposing he had not asked her ?” 

“In that case he would surely not have bought the ring. You 
heard what his own anticipations were. And I can only say,” 
continued Sir George, with warmth, “that there never was any 
one in this world who was more certain to have said what he 
meant. He was as true ” 

“ You mistake me altogether,” cried Sauffrenden, eagerly. 
“ I have not the shadow of a doubt that he was sincere. But 
might he not have taken a little hope, picked up his courage; 
you know we all gave him to understand what we thought ?” 

“ But why should you suppose the offer had not been made ?” 

“ Because I can’t find out,’’ said Sauffrenden, honestly, “ when 
it could have been done. I have been inquiring everywhere, 
and there seems to me to have been no time. He came down 
on Wednesday, wrote her a letter that evening, which she never 
answered. Then he did not leave his house again till he went 
to town next day, driving straight to and from the station.” 

“ But the letter — the letter was enough.” 

“ She never answered it.J’ 

“ No matter. Depend upon it, there was some arrangement.” 

“ An arrangement to see him, that’s what I have made up my 
mind that it was. Perhaps he bade her not answer if the hour 
suited. He was going out, no doubt, to her, the night he died.” 

“With the ring in his pocket,” said Sir George, thoughtfully. 
“ It was very unlike him.” 

They began to talk about the funeral. 

“Ah! the funeral!” said Sauffrenden, sighing. “Who would 
have thought of that last Tuesday ? There he was, as hale and 
hearty as the rest of us. And, by Jove! what a voice he had 


320 


MR, SMITH. 


when he jumped on his legs, and knocked the decanter over. I 
think I never heard three sweeter sounds in my life than those 
three words he called Aytoun! To think of its ending in thisl” 

Sir George sighed too. 

“ And we had all been abusing him,” continued Sauffrenden, 
“ and only just put it right again. Even Milly would have been 
pleased. J wish she could have known before, if it had been 
only for a day. The most disappointing thing! If it had taken 
place before all this came out, I should not have cared half so 
much. Poor dear old boy! To think it has all happened since 
Tuesday morning! We did not half like meeting him, you 
know, Wellwood and I. We were quite cross with him, and 
thought he had behaved very shabbily. I shook hands with him 
very coldy indeed, and so did Philip. I wish we hadn't now.” 

“ He didn’t notice it, I’m sure, Sauffrenden.” 

“He could hardly have helped noticing it. I showed what I 
felt pretty pointedly, I know. He must have thought us nasty, 
capricious sort of fellows; and if there is one thing in the world 
I dislike to be thought, it is capricious.” 

His compunction made the other smile. 

“ Eeally, my dear fellow, you take it too much to heart. 
What you may have felt I can’t pretend to say, but no one would 
ever have suspected it was anything so very virulent from your 
manner.” 

“ He would, though. He knew how friendly I had always 
been. I shall never cease to be sorry for it.” 

“ At any rate you made it up with him afterward.” 

“ Yes, I hope 1 did that,” brightening. “ I think I showed 
him the difference then. I tell you, Lorrimer, when I saw the 
turn things were taking, and that great brute getting brought to 
book at last, I felt myself getting awfully queer. It wouldn't 
have taken much more to have made a baby of me on the spot!” 

“Nor some others either, or I am mistaken.” 

This was delightful. The simple fellow though he meant 
himself, and pressed his arm approvingly. 

The reader will scarcely^ be so credulous. Sir George’s nature 
was not emotional. It is hardly necessary to whisper that the 
allusion was to Philip Wellwood. 

Philip had not yet returned to the neighborhood. He had 
gone off after the dinner-party, leaving a note for his friend to 
say that he had run down to Ryde with a cousin, who was buy- 
ing a yacht, and wished him to inspect it. 

He ieft his address there, and bade Sauffrenden send him all 
the news. He thought he might stay a week or two, and 
go round the island. Some fellows he was once quartered with 
were at Newport. 

Sauffrenden, in some dudgeon, had had his last day in town 
alone; but his spirits had returned on reflection that he had now 
not only his wife to tell about Colonel Aytoun’s dinner-party, 
but would probably have Philip to tell about Mr. Smith’s engage- 
ment. 

Mr. Smith had not been dead many hours before he sent off 
the full account of his untimely end. 


MR. SMITH. 281 

The next day but one saw Philip at Eastworld and at Sanflfren- 
den. 

“You are come for the funeral,” said his friend, greatly 
pleased. “ I’m glad you have. I thought you would.” 

If he bad had his way not a man in or near Eastworld would 
have been absent. 

His grooms, his gardeners, his footmen, all saw that it gratified 
him when they asked to go. He sent invitations through Sir 
George Lorrimer to half the county, and he never, to his dying 
day, forgave the Admiral, who was actually at the Hall, but 
who, after confounding the card, took no further notice of it. 

The funeral was all that was left of Mr. Smith, and enough 
could not be made of it. 

Every one he met going to attend, had his approving nod, and 
he scanned the faces in the cliurcnyard even while he walked 
beside the coffin. 

There was one rouglh-looking fellow whom he did not know. 
Fletcher would tell him who it was. 

“ From the north, my lord.” Fletcher anticipated him. “ Says 
he would have come if it had been a thousand miles. He has 
his tale to tell, and has been telling it to my missis and me; and 
though his jargon ain’t easy made oat, yet it’s worth the listen- 
ing to.” 

“ Is it about poor Mr. Smith ?” 

“Yes, my lord, it is. It seems this Haword, or Hawood, or 
whatever he calls himself, had known the poor gentleman that’s 
gone many a year. He’s from Liverpool, and talks of the river, 
crossing the river, which it seems he has to do, morning and 
evening, to his work. He was going over one day, it’s more 
than thirty years ago, he says, when he was just out of the hos- 
pital, and they thought he was going into a consumption. His 
cough seemed as if it would shake him to bits, and there was a 
fog and an easterly wind. Mr. Smith, as was a young man 
then, turned and looked at him several times, and at last says 
he, ‘ You have no greatcoat, friend.’ And then without an- 
other word, off with his own, and put it on him.” 

“ Ah I” ejaculated Sauffrenden. “ Well?” 

“ He made him keep it till next day,” Fletcher proceeded, not 
too lucidly; “ ‘ and,’ said he, ‘ you should have been welcome to 
it. but I’m not able to afford another.’ But by the next next 
night he, that’s Mr. Smith ” (seeing that his auditor was getting 
mystified), brought him a brand-new one. and said it was a 
present from the gentlemen bn ’Change. He had collected the 
money among them.” 

“ 1 never knew he had been in business,” said Lord Sauffren- 
den. 

“I ’m coming to that, my lord. He was only a lad then, as 
you may say. This was to be the making of him. It seems 
there was some old gentleman who saw the affair of the coat, 
and took a fancy to him then and there. And the end of it was, 
he left him his" fortin’,” concluded the narrator triumphantly. 
He had got to the point of his story at last, and it justified him. 


S*2'2 


MR. SMITH. 


My lord’s face of astonishment! My lord’s unqualified belief 
and "satisfaction! It was worth anything. 

“ He ’s in the back parlor, now,” suggested the postmaster, 
softly. 

Then the stranger was summoned. He corroborated all that 
had been said. Mr. Smith never liked it talked about, but it 
was well known in the place he came from. Mr. Smith was 
respected everywhere. He often used to go 'and see them all. 
He had no relations to speak of, no near ones at any rate. His 
family had been well known, though there were none left now. 
They had been terribly sorry to hear of his death— that was, 
himself and his mates. He had said he would come to his 
funeral if it was a thousand miles. “May I make bold to ask, 
my lord,” he concluded, “ if he was a friend of yours?” 

“Yes, indeed,” replied Lord Sauffrenden, heartily. “I hope 
he would have grown to be much more of one, but he seemed 
scarcely come among us ere he was gone.” 

“ To think,” he added, mentally, “ that I should ever have been 
cold to him !” 

“ Ay,” said the man, “ that was always the way. Come or go, 
he had friends everywhere, and friends of the right sort tw. 
They say he knew a prince once, when he was in furrin parts, 
but I don’t know,” added he, cautiously. “It was only folks’ 
talk may be.” 

“It was very likejy true,” said Lord Sauffrenden, rising. 
“ The prince would be well off, if it w'ere.” 

Then he left, and the stranger gave it as his opinion that if 
all lords were like that, they would be none the worse of a few 
in his part of the world. 

“ Never spoke to one before,” said he; “ but they seem a deal 
more free than our Liverpool gents. My word! there aren’t 
many of them that would sit and answer you like that. Ay, we 
could do with a few more of that kind, up with us.” 

The funeral over, every one wondered what was to come next. 

Mr. Smith and Eastworld had shaken hands; they would see 
his face no more. 

They had grown accustomed to his gray wide-awake and thick 
whiskers, his quick step and ready smile; they had even begun 
to feel a pride in him. If he had only been one of themselves. 

Well, lie could not help that; all that could be done had been 
done. He had come among them; that, in itself, was a token 
for good. He had voluntarily settled down, struck root, and 
even, it now appeared, desired to bud and blossom there. 

His children, at least, would have belonged to the place; and 
the house on the Hill might have been to posterity an ancestral 
mansion. 

All this was now changed; they had laid him beneath the sod, 
and what was to come next? 

The house was to be sold. 

That was the first whisper, and anew hopes and expectations 
were kindled, that the next advent would prove a family. 

They were ready with new faces for the newcomers. New 


MR. SMITH. 

recommendations for a new master; bows and scrapes, if it might 
be so, for a new madam. 

Ere the churchyard was empty, tongues were wagging. All 
were for the future: the past was buried with the dead; as use- 
less, as unprofitable. 

Lord Sauffrenden’s thoughts reverted to the diamond ring. 

Since his conversation about it he had made a new discovery, 
and ever after he felt ashamed of not having made it sooner. 

It was the greatest oversight he had ever been guilty of, and 
he could not understand to the last day of his life how" he came 
to have been so blind. 

Not only had Mr. Smith been at Freelands, but he had been 
there some time, and he had seen Miss Tolleton. 

How in the world came he, Sauffrenden, not to have heard it 
before ? 

Now, of course, there was no doubt about the ring. 

Sir George could not remain to take it, and hesitated whojn to 
ask. 

“ Suppose I go,” said Sauffrenden, earnestly. “ You would 
not send valuable jewels by a man ?” 

“ It might be awkward for you, after what has passed.” 

“One should not regard that, at such a time, and there is 
really no one else.” 

“ Captain Wellwood ? He is a friend of the family.” 

“Philip! O!” trying to hide his disappointment. “Ye — s; if 
he will. But I don’t believe he will. If he likes to go, of course 
he would be a good one to do it.” 

Philip testified neither liking nor disliking. He would take 
the ring, if Sir George wished. He was going back to Ryde 
next day, so would take it that afternoon. 

“ And what shall you say to her?” inquired Sauffrenden, wist- 
fully. 

“ That’s of no consequence, I imagine. There will be no diffi- 
culty in explaining the circumstances.” 

“ Be sure you say he thought she would refuse him.” 

“ I don’t see how that would be to the purpose.” 

“ Shall you tell her how we came to know about it?” 

“ I don’t know that I need.” 

“ Shall you say anything about Aytoun ?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ Shall you say ” 

“It is of no use asking me what I shall say, Sauffrenden. I 
have never thought about it. What can it signify a pin’s point? 
If Sir George wishes it, I will take the ring, and wdiat I say or 
do not say on giving it, cannot be of the slightest importance.” 

“ I shall be much obliged if you will,” said Sir George, taking 
a look at him. (“ Half way in, my friend! Now it will depend 
very much on how she behaves this afternoon, whether it’s over 
the head, or a dry jump out on the other side,”) 

“ I told you he would not like it,” said Sauffrenden, ruefully 
watching his friend depart. “ I told you he would not care to 
go, and I think it was almost a pity he was asked. A young 


224 


MR. SMITH. 


fellow, you know, on such an occasion, is, to say the truth, 
hardly appropriate. You or I would have been far better.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

AT THE TURNING-POINT. 

And thus Helen got her ring, though, alas I the giver came not 
with the gift. 

She took it very quietly, at once allowed her engagement, but 
said nothing of her loss. 

Captain Wellwood, she was well aware, was not one who 
could sympathize, even had she wanted sympathy, which she 
did not. He could not participate in the feelings of her family, 
nor would he believe in her own. He would think as all the 
world thought, that she was rightly served. Perhaps he was 
even laughing at her in his sleeve. 

It was true, she saw no trace of exultation in his look; and in 
the “ Miss Tolleton, I believe this belongs to you,” with which he 
simply placed the case in her hand, there was a tone of respect- 
ful gravity which almost touched her. 

But she knew Philip. He could be anything he chose. She 
herself possessed a like gift, and had been proud of it once. Of 
late she had come to think she had been better without. 

That day, at least, she would not act, let him say or do what 
he would. 

She would not even sit down. She stood and received the 
ring, gravely bending her graceful head, and thanking him in 
cold, sweet tones for the trouble he had taken. Yes, she would 
like to have it; it was kind of them to send it to her. She begged 
he would thank Sir George Lorrimer. 

And then she laid down the case. 

Philip began to falter. 

He wished she would speak to him, he wished she would look 
at him, he wished to goodness she would not stand there with 
that impenetrable face, as if she was not either sorry or glad, or 
possessed of any feeling at all. 

He would have given a good deal to know what she was 
thinking about. Failing that, he would have given something 
to be safely out of the house again. 

Her manner seemed to say: “Go, your presence is intrusive; 
your speech impertinent. It is only "because I am sad and sick 
at heart that I tolerate you.” 

If she would only have looked at the ring! If she would only 
have listened to his explanation! But he began, and saw her 
frown, and then he made up his mind that it would be best to 
leave it all unsaid, and go. 

She gave her hand, and another mechanical “ thank you,” and 
he left the room. 

What could it mean ? It set him wondering, wondering. 

Was it possible, barely possible, not to be ridiculous, that she 
could have entertained any feeling of--of love for the man ^ she 
had elected for her husband ? 

He did not think so; he could not bring himself to think so. 


MR. SMITH. 


225 


Regard there might be; he had even taught himself to imag- 
ine that, mingled with it, there had been a shade of warmth, a 
kindly glow of gratitude, or something of that sort. But be- 
yond this, no. No, Helen, no; it would not do. It was too 
much to expect that that should be believed in. 

She had done very well. But the drama had been played out; 
and behind the scenes how much would be found real ? 

Faugh! Whose voice was that in bis ear? 

Mrs. Hunt’s. 

“ A fine afternoon, Captain Wellwood. You have been at 
Freelands ?” 

How in the world had she crept so close ? He had heard no step. 
He had been absorbed. 

Yes, he had been at Freelands. 

“ And the ladies there in as great force as ever?” 

“ They were not in any particular force.” 

“No? Well, I thought Helen a little pale still, a little quiet, 
perliaps, but then you know, she has had a. moping time of it 
lately. No balls, no amusements, no gentlemen. Bless me! 
wliat am I saying ? But I fancy,” wdth a knowing little laugh, 
“ that Miss Tolleton’s predilections are pretty well known. The 
races will set her all right again.” 

Captain Wellwood disdained her too much to reply. 

“ His Majesty did not even vouchsafe me a bow this time,” 
said she to her husband afterward. “ He jumped over the stile 
and up to the Castle, as if he was lord of all. I wonder they put 
up with him there, I am sure. The rudest, most disagreeable 
man I ever met in my life!” 

“Mamma! Captain Wellwood!” 

It was the incautious Maria who spoke. 

“ Yes, my dear. Captain Wellwood. And, Captain or no Cap- 
tain, that's what I think of him. But of course you and Clare 
think otherwise. Fine feathers make fine birds.” Then soften- 
ing a little, “Poor dear Mr. Smith, how different he always 
was!” 

“ Pshaw!” ejaculated her husband, impatiently, “I’m tired of 
Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith was all very well, but one hears nothing 
but his name now, from morning till night. If a man gets 
drowned, or shot, or hung, he is an angel in the eyes of some 
people. For pity’s sake let Mr. Smith rest in his grave in peace, 
Polly.” 

The petulant outburst surprised them all. 

“ I am sure he may rest for me,” replied Mrs. Hunt; “but I 
must say what I always thought of him— from the very first, as 
the girls know. Dead or living,” she continued, with a sense of 
magnanimity, “ it makes no difference.” 

“ Don’t be too sure of that, my dear.” 

“Sure! Why not sure?” with a swift, cautionary glance at 
her daughters. “ Wliat should make you say that ? You have 
the oddest ways, my dear.” 

“ It is just as well that you should know ” 

“ Now, girls, don’t dawdle about any longer. Clo up-stairs at 
once, and make yourselves tidy.” 


226 


MB. SMITH. 


“ Stay— let them wait a minute; they had better hear it as well 
as you, since it will be all over the country to-morrow. Tliat 
diamond ring has gone to Miss Tolleton.” 

“ She never has! It isn’t true! That girl would swear black 
was white, or white was blacls:, to serve her end! What fool 
has believed her? Who has dared to give it her? The brazen- 
faced ” 

“ You bad better not, Polly. If people hear you raving like 
that, they might wonder, you know. I thought, perhaps, you 
would not be so ready with your tongue in poor Smith’s praise 
when this came round to you!” 

“ Ready! It was not him! He never thought of such a thing! 
It is she who has got up the whole farce from beginning to end, 
and to think that she should get tliis too! Oh, what idiots peo- 
ple are! Who gave it her? And who told you?” 

Of course it was Lord Sauffrenden who had told him. 

Lord Sauffrenden, debarrred from the pleasure of conveying 
the gift, could at least enjoy the satisfaction of proclaiming it. 

He remembered his last interview with Dr. Hunt. He caught 
him in the village. Openly he exulted over him; cruelly he 
probed him. 

The doctor was still smarting when he returned to his house. 
No wonder his wife’s note of praise made the blood from the 
wound spurt forth afresh. No wonder he surprised them. 

She was now eager to know the circumstances. 

What business had Lord Sauffrenden to interfere ? Just be- 
cause he was a lord ” 

“Lord Sauffrenden had nothing to do with it.” 

“Then who had?” 

“ Sir George Lorrimer. I told you it was handed over to him.” 

“ And she goes to him, and makes a long mouth, and cries, 
and pretends — I have no patience when I think of it! A married 
man! He ought to be ashamed of himself! To be cozened by 
that woman!” 

“ I daresay he was. But as it happens he has not seen her.” 

“ How did she claim it, then?” 

“It appears she did not claim it.” 

A howl of disbelief. “She not claim it! If she swore that 
upon the rack, she wouldn’t take me in! Who did claim it if 
she didn’t? Her father, I suppose. Sent off to the Castle with 
weepers in his hat, and they watching him from the windows. 
It made me sick to see him at the funeral, spying and fawning.” 

Dr. Hunt scratched his chin, thoughtfully. This was a new 
view of the case. 

He had been distinctly told that Miss Tolleton liad not men- 
tioned her engagement, and put in no claim to the ring; but not 
a word had been said of her father. 

“ There may be something in that,” said he, at last. 

“Tell me word for word what was told yon, and I’ll soon tind 
out the truth,” demanded the virago. 

“What Lord Sauffrenden told me?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“ That as Mr. Smith was engaged to Miss Tolleton, there was 


MR. SMITH. 


227 


no doubt the ring was meant for her, and 8ir George had accord- 
ingly sent it.” 

“By whom?” 

“ He didn’t say.” 

“But did you not ask how he knew that he was engaged to 
her?” 

“Of course I did. I said no one here had heard of it, and 
hinted as broadly as I could that I should like some proof.” 

“ Well, what had he to say to that ?” 

“He looked rather my lord, which he doesn’t often do, and 
said that he and Sir George were satisfied on the point. They 
had not learnt it from the Tolletons. Yes, by the way, he said 
the Tolletons. Their authority was indisputable. The engage- 
ment had taken place the day before he died.” 

“ Humph! Don’t believe a word of it. She’ll never get a hus- 
band, try as she may.” 

“She was pretty near it this time, at all events. I told you 
before what I thought, Polly; it is of no use your taking it as if 
it were a new thing.” 

Here Maria silently looked at her mother. She and Clare had 
not spoken a word, and they had been overlooked altogether. 

But Mrs. Hunt caught the look, and felt obliged to take more 
heed of her words. 

“ Only after he was dead, my dear, and I thought it wasn’t 

worth while mentioning it. We never thought — that’s to say 

Maria,” said her mother quite gently, “ you had better go up- 
stairs now.” 

Maria went, and one other question was put. 

“ Will everybody know ?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

And thus it came to pass that Mr. Smith’s last wish was 
carried out. He had cleared her name. Not, perhaps, as he had 
thought to clear it; but still in a way dear to her pride, in a way 
that made her bless his memory. 

He had been proud of his choice. He had proclaimed it even 
within the few hours of life left to him after they parted; for thus 
she had erroneously read Philip’s explanation. 

Her heart swelled at the thought. 

And those to whom he had given his confidence had not been 
backward in avowing it. They had, of their own free-will, 
accorded her the place she would have held, and sent her the ring 
she would have worn. It was too much. She would never have 
sought it. She had forbidden her family to say a word. She 
had let it all go, and what she felt or suffered was for herself 
alone. 

Those whose impertinence led them to address lieron the sub- 
ject, gave it as their opinion that Miss Tolleton was curiously 
altered. It was nonsense to suppose that she had cared for that 
old man, but certainly she had shown more proper feeling on 
the occasion than could have been expected. 

“ Wait till the autumn, and you’ll see her cast off her proper- 
ness.. as an adder does its slough,” said Mrs. Hunt, grimly. 


228 


MR. SMITH. 


“ She will come out in greater style than ever, after this fine 
piece of work. I have no faith in reformations.” 

There were those, however, who, when they heard her say 
this, thought of sour grapes. 

Miss Tolleton was still young, and well, she might improve. 

They hoped it would last, that was all. 

And what does she herself think ? 

“ Oh no, I am not changed, not really changed in the least. I 
have been thinking all this while that I am, and others think so 
too, and yet down in my heart I know they are wTong. The 
^ change, if there is to be one, has yet to come. I fancied I had 
grown to dislike the old life with its wild wicked ways, and 
after all it was only because the new one tempted me more. If 
he had not been what he was, I should have seen it sooner; but 
it was so difficult to see that there could be any attraction with 
him except just the money, and that I might have had before. 
I thought I was so wise, and nice, and good to take to it all. 

“ And now that there is nothing to look for, and nobody to 
lead me, and no chance of anything better, am I to let go aU, 
and drift away to what I was before ? What shall I do? 
Which way shall I go ?” 

This was" the burden of her heart. 

She must take her choice, once for all. She was no longer 
blind and ignorant; she had eaten of the tree of knowledge of 
good and evil. 

She saw, darkly, it is true, but nevertheless she saw before her 
the two paths. For a while the narrow one had presented itself 
to her eyes as the more charming of the two. All the pleasant 
things had been along its banks, all that was bright and bewitch- 
ing within its gates. 

But could she make up her mind to enter as these faded from 
her view ? 

The prospect had changed. It looked dull, cold, uninteresting. 
Could she ever be allured to it again? 

So good had God been to her, that hitherto her own base pas- 
sions had been the bonds which His love had used to draw her 
forward, and by them she had been brought to the turning- 
point. 

The bonds were withdrawn. She perceived the ground on 
w’hich she stood. 

Ah! what a check was there! Her feet rested on no pilgrim 
soil. Her journey had not yet begun. She was left looking on 
that shorn, bare, stony road no longer draped in rainbow tints, 
and what was she to make of it ? The other lay close at hand, 
decked in tinsel gewgaws. One on her right hand, one on her 
left. Heaven help her wandering, wavering feet! 

God be with thee, poor Helen! This is thy offer of mercy; 
this is thy day of grace. Thy great, wonderful, inestimable op- 
portunity; thy life. 


MR, SMITH. 


229 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE CONCLUSION OP THE MATTER. 

Lord sauffrenden to captain wellwood. 

“ Dear Phil, — I don’t know how in the world I have been so 
long in writing to you. I have sat down dozens of times, but 
always got up again. Very glad to get yours, all the same. What 
sport you must have had! I would have given anything for a day 
after those jungle fellows. Rather a different sort of thing from 
potting pheasants, I should think! We have just begun that old 
story h^ere, but they are not so good as usual. The new fellow 
was not so clever with the young ones as old Hislop. As you 
see the papers, you won’t care for any public news. If a disso- 
lution does come, it might be rather awkward, but I think we 
could weather it. By the way, that reminds me that Fred Percy 
(who has just got into the Foreign Office) told me to he sure to 
tell you to see his brother, if you were anywhere near Peshore — 
I know that’s not the way to spell it, but there’s nobody to tell 
me what is. He has had the fever, but is all right again, and 
would be awfully glad to see you. So go if you can, and send 
him a line about it, like a good fellow. It was queer your com- 
ing across Aytoun. I suppose, since his wife’s death, he is quite 

the gay young bachelor again. I don’t wonder at Lord M ’s 

giving him the cold shoulder , — do you 9 All here much as usual. 
Poor Smith’s house sold at last, and the new people, a varnish- 
maker and his family, come down this week. The first thing 
they did was to stick on spires and horns and all sorts of excres- 
cences, and transmogrify the whole building. The Dowager 
gave us a day or two last week, blooming as ever, and we had 
Best to meet her, but they didn’t make it out! Rosy’s wedding 
fixed for next month. We are going to town about her present 
to-morrow% and wish you were here to give us the benefit of your 
taste. Wife’s love: she’s all right again now, thanks, and says 
you are not to go and get gray. I am, dear Phil, yours affection- 
ately. Sauffrenden. 

“P. S . — When are you coming home? 

“ P. S . — Who do you think are coming to stay with us, but the 

Tsr 

This was the letter which the English mail brought Philip 
Well wood; and which he received lying on his bed under the 
waving punkah, gazing on the far, far distant peaks of the 
Himalayas, w^eary of the eternal sunshine, feeling sick and cross, 
and ill at ease with all around him. 

The letter was not to his mind. He did wish Sauffrenden 
could write a decent letter. What pleasure could a letter like 
that afford anybody ? There were such lots of things he might 
have said instead of spending his time over that rubbish of 
Smith’s house, and the T's. 

The T's at Sauffrenden certainly w^as a revolution, but even a 
revolution is sometimes hardly worth a postscript. 

Nevertheless, he sent a postscript back. “ Pray remember me 
to the ladies at Freelands.” 


230 


Mli. SMITH. 


By and by Sauffrenden wrote again. “The Tolletons” — no 
longer the T’s— “have been with us at Brighton. Helen made 
a sensation there, I can tell you.” 

“ I daresay she did,” thought Philip. “ If that fool Balmaine 
had seen her, be might have talked of a pretty girl. But, good 
heavens! Louise O’Minn! They would rave about a she-ape out 
here.” 

It was soon after this that Philip discovered he was tired of 
the Himalayas. 

Spring was come again; and he thought of the cool rustle of 
the leaves in an English valley; of the shining winding river; 
the busy little town; his old friends and his old ways; and felt 
himself home-sick. 

His little place w^as sold, but he would go to Sauffrenden if 
they would have him. 

Accordingly one still June evening he drove along the familiar 
road. 

New things met his eye at every turn. 

There was a new gate, and a new approach ; and newest of 
all there was a little white bundle being carried in state up and 
down the flowery terrace, for whose appearance he had indeed 
been prepared, but which nevertheless gave him a shock. 

And he was just as strange to them. 

Trivial alterations to which they had long grown accustomed 
caught his eye. 

He wanted to know where this had gone, and when that had 
come? At every turn it was “Oh, was that not before you 
left?” and “ You must recollect this, it has been here so long.” 

He remembered forgotten stories. He quoted old sayings. He 
revived the things that had passed away. 

Sauffrenden felt that, come what might, he never could let his 
Philip go again. 

“ It’s delightful to have you back again, old boy, give us your 
fist,” said he, times without number. “And now,” he added, as the 
hour of luxury came, when the two strolled out into the twilight, 
and floating on the fragrant clouds confidences passed; “now', 
you must not go away again, never no more, as the books say. 
Bengal may be all very fine, but you have done it thoroughly, 
and will never need to blow' off your steam again. Take ex- 
ample, settle down among us, and have a wife and boy of your 
own.” 

“ Hear him!” cried Philip. “As if wives and boys to order 
grew on every tree! By the bye, that boy of yours, as you call 
him, little white bundle of night shirt as I call him, is an innova- 
tion. I don’t approve of innovations. I meant to find you all 
exactly as I left you, and he upsets the wdiole order of things.” 

‘ “ But is he not a delightful little wretch? Nurse declares he 
knew me to-day, and I really think he did. He has got our car- 
roty locks, too. And you wouldn’t have the old place go away 
from us? I can tell you I didn’t like the idea of that at all, 
neither did Milly. How do you think she is looking?” 

“Very well indeed. Never saw her look better in my life.” 

“That’s what every one says,” delighted. 


MR. SMITH. 


331 

“ Tlie fact is, you know,” confidentially, “she has never been 
well before. She’s all right now. And we're going to have a 
run in the Percys’ yacht by and by. Take the little un with us. 
He is three months old now, and nurse thinks the sea-air would 
be grand for him. But I don’t know. What if he should be 
sick?” 

Philip’s great “ haw, haw,” sounded up to Lady Sauffrenden’s 
bedroom. 

“You’ll make a rare good father, old fellow. One would 
think you had been in the nursery all your life. Do you consult 
this oracle every day ?” 

“ You would, too, if you had one of your own.” 

“ Which I have no prospect of having.” 

“No? None? Really and truly? Then we’ll begin and look 
you out a mate at once. If we don’t, you’ll be slipping off again. 
Let me see. There’s Helen, my paragon Helen, and Freelands is 
hers now; you would be close by. But perhaps she wouldn’t 
suit you; and besides, I am pledged to Fred.” 

“ By the way,” said Philip, “I have never asked after the 
Tolletons.” 

“ Ah! you might have asked after them slap out before Milly, 
now. The most wonderful change in that quarter. She and 
Helen can’t see enough of each other.” 

“No! wonders never cease.” 

“ I told you they came here, didn’t I?” 

“ Yes, but that was all.” 

“Oh, but it isn’t all, by any means. It began by little and lit- 
tle, but lately it has grown like Alice in Wonderland.” 

“ And what made the difference?” 

“ She’s different, that’s the thing. I can’t tell you how, but 
every one knows. She’s not like the same creature, she's be- 
come, you know ” — lowering his voice — “ so very religious.” 

“Religious!’’ 

“ And all that sort of thing. And Milly swears by her. What- 
ever Helen tells her, she’ll do. It’s no sham — it’s a fact. Wait 
till you see for yourself. And, by Jove! she’s handsomer than 
ever. Fred’s poor penniless heart is set upon her, but they’ll 
have to wait.” 

“ They are engaged, then ?” 

“Nothing of the sort, nor can be. He can barely keep him- 
self ; but we are trying to get a good thing for him, and if we 
manage it, he will beat her feet to-morrow.” 

“ And will she have him ?” 

“I don’t know; I suppose so. He is a capital fellow. We'll 
take them in the yacht, and you too, if you’ll come. The only 
pity is they couldn’t live here, and Freelands is a nice place. 
However, it would be just the thiug for you, now that you have 
a few thousands more, and we’ll look you out a wife in no time.” 

“ No hurry; the other affair isn't settled yet.” 

“ Well, we shall hear in a week, and I don’t think B. would re- 
fuse me.” 

“ But that is only tlie preliminary. How do you know she 
cares for him ?” 


333 


MR. SMITH. 


"1 tell you I don’t know; I only suppose so. She never was 
the girl to show her likings or dislikings unless she chose, and 
now she wouldn’t flirt with a parson.” 

“Oh!” 

A pause. 

“ How are the others ?” 

“ Carry’s married, you know. She goes along with Helen in 
everything, and the consequence is that she bagged the very 
tirst curate who came in Rodney’s place. Rodney has got a 
living, not much of one, but still an advance — somewhere in 
Devonshire. I don’t think Lily half likes the new state of things. 
She takes herself off whenever she can. She was always the 
Avorst of the three.” 

“ That she was!” said Philip, with a vivid recollection of Lily’s 
eye upon him, in olden times. “ Is she here now?’’ 

“ I don’t know. No, of course she is not; for Helen is to come 
up here to-morrow, because she’s alone. We asked Fred to meet 
her, but he could not get away. She will be with us a week, at 
least. Ah, what a pity it is, it isn’t you!” 

But need Ave tell the reader that it was him ? That before the 
week was over, Fred’s chance, if he had ever had one, was blown 
to the winds ? That Lord and Lady Sauffrenden, cruel people, 
threw over their poor cousin without a pang, and declared that 
all along Philip and Helen had been made for each other? 

And Avhat with the little boat that only held two, and the little 
paths that Avere only broad enough for tAvo, and the evening 
strolls, and the nightingales, and the glow-worms, and the thou- 
sand and one other sweet influences which were brought to bear 
—there was no resisting the speed Avith which they were hurried 
along to their destiny. 

A week! Helen stayed three. Lord Sauffrenden would have 
been deeply hurt if the matter had been concluded anywhere but 
under his own roof, or on his own grounds; and having caught 
and caged his birds, he closed every aperture of escape. 

So it came to pass that one balmy night, Avhen they had all 
been out under the cedars, and the scent of the SAveet syringas 
had been almost too luscious, that Helen came in, in her white 
gown, and stood before her friend. 

“ And she never looked moie beautiful in her life,” narrated 
Milly. “ So I knew in a moment it had happened. And I Avas 
as glad as if she had been my own sister!” 

But what a poor match it Avas thought for her by the people 
of Eastworld, the Bartletts, the Bams, and the Hunts! 

How appropriate a moral they dreAv! How pleased they were! 

A poor thing she had made of it, after all! 

After the fine company she had been meeting at the Castle, and 
the fuss about her at Brighton. 

To have to take up with her old flame, Philip Well wood! 

That was what girls came to, in spite of their looks, when they 
didn’t know how to behave themselves. Give them good jaian- 
ners instead of good looks, any day. 

And after the way she had caught that iMAor Mr. Smitl>, ind 
taken in even Lady Sauffrenden, 


MR. SMITH. 233 

She changed! Yes, there was a mighty change, no doubt. 
She was clever enough for anything. 

Lily was the only one with a grain of honesty in her composi- 
tion, and she remained what she always was. 

And Mrs. Hunt let it be understood, though not in so many 
words, that she would have considered it a sin and a shame, not 
to say a great injustice on the part of Providence, if in the long- 
run Helen had been rewarded with a rich husband. 

Providence had more than once appeared to be on the eve of 
committing this enormity, but the danger had passed by, and 
with Philip Well wood she was sourly satisfied. 

“ They'll have to scrapple along as best they can,” said she. 
“ His fine relations will do nothing for him, Pll be bound. And 
her ten thousand won’t go as far as she thinks, with all his 
extravagant army habits. They will find it little enough when 
the children begin to come. It is lucky for them she has the 
house. Old Tolleton’s dropping off as he did, cleared the way 
for both her and Carry. My Lord Wellwood did not forget when 
he came forward, we may "be sure.” 

When she said this, she little dreamed that “ my Lord Well- 
wood” was soon to be my Lord Wellwood in earnest, you under- 
stand. 

When that day came, a veil had best be drawn over Mrs. 
Hunt’s feelings. Never but once in her life before had she ex- 
perienced such a shock; and we all know when that was. 

“Helen,” said her lover, one evening in the bow-window, a 
few days before their marriage, “ you must try to teach me the 
lesson you have learnt since first I knew you. What has made 
the difference? For you are different, you know,” said he, 
drawing her toward him, “ tell me about it.” 

“ I knew once,” she answered, “a simple, noble, Christian 
gentleman— — ” 

“ That will do,” said Philip, softly. “ I know. Mr. Smith.” 

[THE END.] 







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teria, spasms and other distressing, nerv'- 
ous symptoms commonly attendant upon 
functional and organic disease of the 
womb. It induces refreshing sleep and 
relieves mental anxiety and despond- 
ency. •* 

Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
tion is a legitimate medicine, 

carefully compounded by an experienc- 
ed and skillful physician, and adapted 
to woman’s delicate organization. It is 

puirely vegetable in its composition and 


perfectly harmless in i':6 cffectfc in any 
condition of the system. 

“Favorite Preseription ” is a 
positive cure for the most compli- 
cated and obstinate cases of ieucorrhea, 
or “ whites,” excessive flowing at month- 
ly periods, painful menstruation, unnat- 
ural suppressions, prolapsus or falling 
of the womb, Aveak bf,ck, “female Aveak- 
ness,” ante version, ref reversion , bea ri ng- 
down sensations, chronic congestion, in- 
flammation and ulceration of the Avomb, 
inflammation, pain and tenderness in 
ovaries, accompanied Avith internal heat. 

In pregnancy, “ Favorite Prescrip- 
tion” is a “mother’s cordial,” relieving 
nausea, weakness of .itomach and other 
distressing symptoraj common to that 
condition. If its use is kept up in the 
latter months of gestation, it so prepares 
the system for delivery as to greatly 
lessen, and many times almost entirely 
do away Avith the suilerings ot that try- 
ing ordeal. 

‘‘ Favorite Prcscriptio7i,” wiicv* 
taken in connection with the use of 
Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery, 
and small laxative doses of Dr. Pierce’s 
PurgatiA'O Pellets (Little Liver Pills), 
cures LiA’cr, Kidney and Bladder dig. 
cases. Their combined use also removes 
blood taints, and abolishes cancerous 
and scrofulous humors from fhes 3 'stcm. 

Treating tlio Wrong Disease.— 
:Many times women call on their family 
phj'sicians, suffering, as they imagine, 
one from dj'spcpsia, another from heart 
disease, another from liver or kidney 
disease, another from nervous exhaus- 
tion or prostration, another Avith pain 
here or there, and in this waj”” they all 
present alike to fhcmsclA'cs and their 
easj"-going and indifferent, or over-busy 
doctor, separate and distinct diseases, 
for AA'hich ho prescribes his pills and 
potions, assuming them to be such, 
Avhen, in reality, they are all only symp- 
toms caused by some Avomb disorder. 
The physician, ignorant of the cause of 
suffering, encourages his practice until 
largo bills are made. The suffering pa- 
tient gets no better, but probably Avorse 
by reason of the delay, wrong treat m.cnt 
and consequent complications. A prop- 
er medicine, like Dr. I’icrce’s FaA orito 
Prescription, directed to the cause Avould 
ha\’0 entirely rcmoA’cd the disease, there- 
by dispelling all those distressing symp- 
toms, and instituting comfort instead of 
prolonged misery. 

“Favorite Prescription” is the 
only medicine for women sold, 1 v dn:g- 
gists, under a positive gnaranieo. 
from the manufacturers, that it will 
giA'e satisfaction in CA-ery case, or money 
AA'ill bo refunded. This guarantee has 
been printed on the bottle- wn-apper, and 
faithfully carried out for many Acars. 
Large bottles (100 doses) $1.00, or 
six bottles for $5.00. 

i^^Send ten cents in stamps for Dr. 
Pierce’s large, illustrated ’lYc^atise (100 
pages) on Diseases of Women. Address, 
World’s Dispensary Medical Association, 
r Jio, ««t Main bxBS£T, buffalo, jv. l 


THE UNE SELECTED BY THE U. S. 60VERNMENT TO CARRY THE FAST MAIL 


WHEN YOU TRAVEL 

TAKE THE 


Burlington 

Route 

C.B.&Q.R.R. 



Through Trains between CHICAGO, PEORIA, ST. LOUIS and 

NVER. KANSAS CITY. ST. PAUL. 

MAHAe ATCHISON. MINNEAPOLIS. 

COUNCIL BLUFFS. ST.JOSEPH, PUBUQUE. 

lO 


^ /LINCOLN. 


TOPEKA. 




DES MOINES. 

rains to and from NEW YORK, BOSTON, PHILADELPHIA and all points EAST, connect with 
Through Trains via the Burlington Route to and from 

SAN FRANCISCO, PORTLAND, CITY OF MEXICO, 

AND ALL RESORTS IN COLORADO AND O N THE PACIFIC COAST. 

The only railroad west of Chicago having la DOUBLE TRACK to the Mississippi River, The 
only line running THROUGH SLEEPERS between CHICAGO AND OENVER, and Tbetween CHICAGO 
AND TOPEKA. 

For tickets, rates, maps, or further information concerning the Burlington Route, apply to Ticket 
Agents of its own or connnocting lines. 

HENRY B. STONE, PAUL MORTON, 

G«n«rat Manager. CHICAGO. General Passenger and Tickat Agant. 


THE TUXEDO SUIT. 

A comple costume of original design, novel, elegant, 
and graceful, consisting of Cap, Blouse, Skirt, and 
Sash, Full Fashion, knitted of the Finest Worsted 
Materials, made in a variety of Colorings, and in 
Patterns to match throughout. 

From its texture it is especially adapted for 

Lawn Tennis, Yachting, Rowing, Gymna.- 

sium, the Mountains, and all Athletic 

and Out-door Sports for Ladles 

and Children. 

Send for Descriptive Circular. 

These suits for sale only by 

JAMES McOREERY & OO., 

Broadway and Eleventh Street, New York. 










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